


Crossed Paths and Karaoke

by TheCauldron



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9205115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCauldron/pseuds/TheCauldron
Summary: When Draco ran into the missing Harry Potter four years after the Battle of Hogwarts, he didn't realize that before long that man would be his alibi for a crime he didn't commit. Now if only he could get out of the pesky secrecy oath before he gets sent to Azkaban... Post Hogwarts, ignores epilogue, with just a dash of smutty goodness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I make no money from this. All rights to the appropriate people.**

**Authors Note: Song is “Do Me a Favour” by Stone Sour.**

 

Draco sighed again as he lay sprawled elegantly on the chaise. Staring at the intricately moulded ceiling, he ignored the unimpressed looks from Blaise and Pansy. He knew he was behaving abominably, but he was _bored_. If it bothered them so much, then they could bloody well find a way to entertain him.

 

“This is ridiculous, Draco. You’ve been moping around the Manor for months now. Surely Michael leaving isn’t worth all of this?” Pansy’s voice was a smooth soprano, tone perfectly modulated. She had grown from the square faced, pug nosed girl into a stunning woman; even managing to outgrow the braying laugh she had inflicted upon everyone in school. Perfectly presented, perfectly controlled at all times, she was the image of the ideal pureblood. The sort of woman any self-respecting pureblood man should be falling over himself to court. Pity she did nothing for Draco, to his parents intense disappointment.

 

“What?” Draco rolled his head to peer at her in confusion. “Don’t be absurd. I’m not moping over Michael. He was just a bit of fun, nothing more. I’m just _bored_.” He loosed another sigh.

 

“Is that all?” Blaise raised an eyebrow. “Go fly then.”

 

“I did that yesterday. It’s no fun without someone to play against.” Draco sulked.

 

“You could go shopping. The Nott’s ball is next weekend. That’s as good an excuse as any to get some new robes.” Pansy sipped her tea.

 

“I had them made a week ago. And you know I don’t find shopping as entertaining as you do. I need something _different_. Something _exciting_.”

 

Pansy scowled prettily, while Blaise just looked thoughtful. Draco casually draped an arm across his eyes and sighed again, drawing it out obnoxiously.

 

“I have an idea.” Blaise gazed into the fire as he sipped his Firewhiskey.

 

Draco moved his arm and tilted his head. “And that would be?”

 

“I don’t know, it might be a bit risky, even for you.” The handsome Italian carefully suppressed a smirk when the bored blonde sat up, radiating indignation.

 

“Spill it Zabini. It can’t be worse than shopping.” Both men ignored Pansy’s offended sniff.

 

“As you know, since the war my mother has been trying to improve the way the public perceives our family. Even though we stayed neutral, public opinion is swinging heavily to the Mudbloods, and she wanted to make sure we didn’t get grouped with the blood purists. Publically at least. So she has been ‘encouraging’ me to explore Muggle culture. It’s dreadful, of course, but I did discover something that might cure your boredom.” He paused to take another sip, enjoying the irritated scowl from his pale counterpart. “The Muggles have these places called ‘Karaoke Bars’. It’s a bar where they go and drink their inhibitions away, then get up on a stage and sing in front of the other patrons. As you would expect, most of them are truly awful, but occasionally someone puts on a good show. And if not you can always laugh at the ones that don’t. There’s one in Soho.”

 

Silence filled the room.

 

Eventually Pansy couldn’t contain her disgust any longer. “Have you lost what little mind you have? Are you suggesting we go _slumming_? In _Muggle London_ of all places? What if somebody saw us?”

 

Blaise tossed her a scornful glance. “What’s the matter Pansy? Casting a glamour too difficult for you? As I recall, you got particularly good at them in fourth year when Bulstrode hit you with the Acne Hex.”

 

“Listen, you ill-bred little-”

 

Draco interrupted. “Don’t be stupid Blaise. We can’t go to _Muggle London_. We would never be clean again! Merlin knows what kind of filth we would come in contact with!”

 

Blaise finished his drink and stood. “Your choice. But what’s worse; boredom, or a chance to make fun of some Muggles?” He disappeared into the Floo a moment later.

 

Pansy frowned at Draco. “You aren’t seriously considering it, are you?”

 

Draco scoffed. “Of course not. I wouldn’t go to Muggle London if you paid me!”

 

Satisfied, Pansy kissed his cheek and Floo’d out in a whirl of green flame.

 

“Not even if you paid me.” Draco muttered to himself as he threw himself back on the chaise again.

 

****

 

The idea wouldn’t go away. It hovered in the back of his mind as he ate breakfast. It followed him like a besotted puppy as he flew around the Manor’s Quiddich Pitch. It whispered seductively as he reclined in his bath. It stroked his thoughts like a lover as he lay in bed. It infiltrated his dreams.

 

He thought he did quite well to last a week. Anyone would have given in under those circumstances. Much earlier than he did, obviously. And he was only going to see what it was like, just for a laugh. And there was no chance of anyone seeing him. Who could resist the temptation? Not even a Saint. And nobody had ever accused Draco Malfoy of being a Saint.

 

****

 

The noise hit him like a solid wall. Followed closely by the smell. Sweat and cheap perfumes, alcohol and something that could only be described as a fruity purple. The place was packed, and Draco shuddered slightly as he had to force his way to the bar. The Muggles were _touching_ him. Finally reaching his destination, he ordered a whiskey. He barely remembered in time that they wouldn’t have something proper, like _Fire_ whiskey. He would have to make do. Drink in hand, he elbowed his way towards the seating area in front of the stage. There were tall tables with high stools scattered around the place, and a couple of comfortable couches. Draco promptly claimed one. He sat, sipping his whiskey and pretending not to be looking around.

 

“All right ladies and gentlemen! It’s time for our karaoke competition! Tonight’s prize will be a bottle of Suntory Yamazaki twelve year old whiskey! Those of you who intend to sing for us tonight, place your name on the sign-up sheet and choose your song!”

 

Draco watched as people drifted up to the sheet, scribbling with an odd sort of quill he didn’t recognise. There was a fairly even mix of men and women. Approximately twenty people signed up to perform. He sipped his drink and waited for the fun to begin.

 

The first contestants were an assault to his ears. He cringed as one woman hit a particularly unpleasant note, and held it for an uncomfortable amount of time. She was screeching something about always loving someone, staring into the eyes of a man who was apparently her thoroughly whipped partner, given that he was the only one to cheer and applaud. There was only one contestant left. Draco considered going home and forcing Blaise to pay for his headache potions.

He threw back the last of his whiskey and prepared to stand, only to choke and fall back into his seat as the next person took the stage. It was Harry Bloody Potter. Harry Potter, who had killed the Dark Lord then a month later announced that he was leaving the Magical world because he was sick of how he had been treated. So what if the papers had already started questioning if he would become the next Dark Lord? He was still a selfish prat. Four years, and nobody had been able to find him. Owls returned with undelivered letters, tracking spells and public appeals failed, even his friends didn’t seem to know where he was, if their tearful and pale faces were to be believed. Which they obviously couldn’t be, since the Gryffin-git would never leave his precious flunkies behind entirely. And here he was, taking the stage in a Muggle karaoke bar in London.

 

Draco touched his chest, sure his heart was going to burst from his chest with how hard it was beating. Four years away from the Magical world had done wonders for the man. He looked _good_. His clothes were well tailored, though casual. His chest had broadened and filled out, and muscles rippled under his shirt. He had gotten rid of those atrocious glasses, and his green eyes glowed with humour and confidence. His hair had been cropped shorter, still slightly longer at the front to cover his scar and artfully arranged into a casual chaos, rather than its former birds nest. Draco was only mildly startled to realise he was drooling. He was a man who made a habit of indulging his wants. And when he looked at the man on stage, he _wanted_.

 

And then Potter began to sing, and the crowd erupted with cheers. The heavy beat vibrated the floor under Draco’s feet, and the guitar pulled at him in a way he had never experienced. After the crooning and caterwauling of the previous contestants, Potter’s hard rock choice was a startling departure. But it _worked_. Draco listened to the lyrics pouring from his lips, and felt like he had been struck. The sheer emotion behind the words couldn’t be ignored. He tried to focus on the words themselves, and gradually surfaced from his stupor enough to absorb some of them.

 

_I am an anti everything man_

_A scab on the lips of the Lord_

_My caustic dismissal_

_Is all I need to get you_

_To fall on your sword_

 

_It's easy to live fast_

_It's harder to live_

_I woke up today with a gun_

_Ignoring your history_

_Is killing your past_

_You might run forever_

_If death never lasts_

 

Potter’s voice was rough and hard, bitterness and venom seeping through. He poured his soul into his performance, striding and dipping as he prowled around the stage. People poured forward and started to dance, jostling each other, still whooping and cheering.

 

_So do me a favour_

_Your behaviour_

_Is just a reason why_

_There is no saviour_

_When you're wasted_

_Let's face it_

_There's a side of you that_

_Knows you're a failure_

_Lives for the danger_

_Feels like an enemy but looks like a stranger_

 

Draco felt himself fracturing and pulling back together as Potter _transformed_. He was alive in a way he had never been in all the years that Draco had known him. His body arched and shook, his head back, eyes flashing and drawing in every member of the crowd, then closing as if in pain as he sang. He poured everything he had into it, and it showed. It didn’t matter who else had competed. Potter would win. He was _magnificent_.

 

_The bell has rung on the titans_

_Everybody give us some room_

_Your so called set of fake morals_

_I can't tell the difference_

_Is that an excuse?_

 

_The matter at hand_

_Is a matter of time_

_A sad little kid with broken toys_

_Your dogmatic license_

_Has kept you inside_

 

_What will you do?_

_When you're burning alive?_

 

Draco knew he was lost. He had to have the man before him. The pure passion and contained fury was the most potent aphrodisiac he had ever encountered, and he burned to touch, to taste, to bite and scratch and have that energy directed towards him. He _needed_ it. His life had been one of luxury, but in the presence of such raw power, he could see how dull and flat it really was. A pale imitation of what it could be. He could never go back to what he had been before.

 

_I don't mind my old, dead story_

_And I don't want to lie to you_

_I know my glory_

_Will never be the same as truth_

_By now my only enemy is you_

 

_I won't go slowly_

_I'll leave you behind_

_Leave you behind_

_Leave you behind_

_Leave you behind_

 

Finally the song ended, and Potter drooped, exhausted. Draco stood before realising he had, and started pushing forward. He had to speak to him. He had to _have_ him. Potter had accepted the bottle of whiskey as his prize, and was stepping off the stage. He looked up as Draco stopped in front of him. Startled green eyes met dilated grey, and then closed. The expression of weary resignation made Draco whimper and reach forward before he could think better of it.

 

He grabbed Potter’s wrist and dragged him into the restroom, shoving him against the wall and pinning him with his body. He couldn’t help the faint moan at how good Potter felt against his own lean form. He looked at his startled captive and licked his lips.

 

“How did you find me?” Potter’s, _Harry’s_ voice was deep and rough, rumbling through his chest, and sending a shiver through Draco.

“Pure chance. I was bored and came here for a laugh, and there you were.” The blonde man whispered huskily, eyes flicking between the darker mans parted lips and his luminous eyes.

 

Harry shuddered and tried to shift his hips away, but only managed to brush his groin against Draco’s. He bit his lip, failing to hide his whimper.

 

“Come home with me.” Draco demanded, leaning closer and stroking the tip of his nose along Harry’s, then trailing it along his cheek and over towards his ear.

 

“Fuck that.” Harry choked out, but grabbed the back of Draco’s neck. “My place is closer.” He dragged the lighter man from the bar and into a quiet alley behind it, then Apparated them both.

 

***

 

Draco landed on the floor with a muffled curse, and looked up at Harry. The muscular man stared down at him with no traces of the lust he had been previously showing. His arms were folded across his chest, and his eyes were narrowed and cold. He still clutched the bottle of whiskey in one hand. “What’s your game, Malfoy?” He growled.

 

“What?” Draco frowned in confusion. He shifted, trying to discretely adjust himself.

 

“You really think that I believe you found me by accident, and decided you want to fuck me?” Harry scoffed, then turned and walked into the open kitchen. Opening the whiskey, he poured two glasses and walked back, holding out one to Draco.

 

Accepting it, Draco stood and glowered. “It’s the truth.”

 

“Uh huh. Sure it is.” Harry dropped into a leather overstuffed chair and propped his feet on a scuffed coffee table, gesturing lazily to another chair. “Grab a seat Malfoy. You may as well be comfortable while you lie to me.”

 

“I’m not lying!” Draco snarled, but took the offered seat. “I was bored, and Blaise mentioned karaoke bars, and I thought it would be better than laying around the Manor staring holes in the ceiling.”

 

“You were bored.”

 

“Yes.” Draco huffed.

 

“Why didn’t you go flying? Or shopping?” Harry peered over the top of the glass he was nursing.

 

“Seriously? Do you have eavesdropping spells in my house or something?”

 

Harry blinked. “What?”

 

Draco shook his head impatiently. “Never mind. Look, I’m not going to reveal you or anything.” A part of his mind was surprised to realise he meant it, but he put it aside for the moment. “You had your reasons for leaving, and I get the impression that the song you chose tonight was a lot more personal than even I realise. But seeing you up there like that…” He trailed off with a shiver, then looked back at Harry with dilated eyes.

 

Harry looked at him thoughtfully. “You don’t plan to reveal me.” His tone was flat, but not quite disbelieving. “You just saw me and decided I’d be a nice piece of arse for the night, is that it?”

 

Working his jaw soundlessly for a moment, Draco surprised himself again by grabbing his wand. “I vow on my magic that I will not betray any information on the activities or whereabouts of Harry Potter without his express permission.” He smirked faintly at the gobsmacked expression on his companions face as the vow took hold. “And I was thinking of something longer than just one night, if you’re open to the idea. Otherwise I suppose I’ll take what I can get.” He lowered his voice and hooded his eyes, licking his bottom lip as his gaze raked Harry’s body.

 

Harry raised an eyebrow and shifted slightly, not so accidentally displaying his physique better. “Oh really?”

 

Draco bit his lip and stood, stalking over and straddling Harry’s lap. “Really. I saw you, I _heard_ you.” He raked his fingers through Harry’s shortened hair, tugging slightly. “You opened your soul, and I want it. I want that fire.” He licked Harry’s earlobe, and whispered, “I _need_ it.”

 

He hissed slightly in surprise as Harry grabbed his arse, and lifted him easily, carrying him to the bedroom and throwing him unceremoniously onto the bed. Harry was apparently a lot stronger than he looked, even with all that delicious muscle.

 

“Strip.” The deep voice cracked like a whip.

 

Draco found himself obeying eagerly. He never took his eyes from the deep green ones boring into him, flinging the clothing aside onto the floor with complete disregard for the first time in his life. He didn’t care if they got rumpled, or even ruined. The only thing he cared about at the moment was standing in front of him, slowly removing his own clothes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Harry’s hands were firm and rough, the callouses on his palms and knuckles rubbing deliciously on Draco’s soft skin. He mewled as Harry bit lightly behind his ear. He would have flushed in embarrassment at being so uncontrolled, but Harry was doing something with his tongue on his neck, and, well, his brain wasn’t really functioning right now.

 

He writhed against Harry, hands exploring the ridges and hard plains of his body, greedily learning every curve and contour. Harry’s teeth nipped along Draco’s neck and collarbone, along his shoulder, then back up to his ear, nibbling and making him gasp and grind. Harry’s skin was slightly salty from the light sweat coating him, flushed under his light tan and smelling faintly of wood smoke and musk. It was earthy and heady, and Draco wanted _more_.

 

Draco moaned and whimpered, gasping curses as Harry’s talented hands and mouth explored him, finding every single sensitive place and using it to full advantage. He sobbed, and Harry chuckled darkly, not giving him a moment’s respite. It was too much, it wasn’t enough, he couldn’t _think_. He groped blindly, nails scraping Harry’s back and arse, clawing to bring him closer. He felt a moment of triumph when Harry growled appreciatively, but it was quickly lost to Harry’s retaliation as he felt his cock disappear down the muscular man’s throat. He cried out and bucked, hands scrabbling in Harry’s dark hair, fighting to not come. Harry chuckled again, sending lightning bolts of pleasure up Draco’s spine, and twisted Draco’s hands into his hair. He paused, looking up with a smirk. Draco whined, looking down desperately. He bucked slightly, but Harry just moved with him, smirk growing wider. With a snarl, Draco yanked on the dark locks, bucking again at the same time, driving his cock deeper into Harry’s teasing mouth. The pleased purr Harry loosed made his eyes roll back in his head.

 

“Oh, you like that, do you?” Draco thrust again, shoving Harry’s face down his shaft by his hair. “You like it when I control you like this?” The whimpered affirmative was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. He set a steady rhythm, his head falling back as he gasped. Harry’s tongue danced, stroking and swirling, exploring and tasting every millimetre being forced down his throat, never faltering, never seeming to tire. Draco tensed, choking out a warning as he came, spurting into Harry’s eagerly waiting mouth. The motions of Harry’s throat as he swallowed wrung more and more from Draco’s shuddering body, pulling out every last drop.

 

Draco whined softly as Harry carefully and gently suckled him clean, then let him slide from his mouth. His hands fell languidly from Harry’s hair, and he looked up with hazy eyes. Harry’s lips were puffy and swollen, his face flushed with arousal. He crawled back over the blonde’s body and smiled, smug at Draco’s boneless state. “Don’t fall asleep on me now,” he whispered into Draco’s ear as he sucked and nibbled it. “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

 

Draco’s eyes fluttered at the whispered words. Dear Merlin, he was going to die of pleasure; but he couldn’t bring himself to care overmuch. If he had to die, it was a excellent way to go. He grumbled slightly as Harry rolled him, but smiled softly when Harry ran his fingers through Draco’s pale hair, scraping his nails against his scalp in all the right places. He moaned as Harry started massaging his neck and shoulders, working his way down his back. Draco relaxed and enjoyed it for a few minutes, before muttering, “I thought you didn’t want me to go to sleep?”

 

Harry chuckled softly. “I don’t. But I like to make my partners feel good while they’re with me. A blowjob is a good start, but anyone can do that.” He leaned closer, his breath puffing against Draco’s ear. “I rarely take a partner. So when I do, I like to make damn sure I’m the best they’ve ever had. I like to be memorable. Not for my past, but for what I can make you feel _now_.” His fingers dug at a particularly stubborn knot, and Draco arched with a moan. Harry continued slowly, his voice low and seductive, purring as he wove his words like a spell through Draco’s drugged senses. “I like to worship my partners. I like to explore their bodies, learning every single nuance until I can play it like an instrument. I like to bring them to the edge of their pleasure and hold them there, gasping and begging for release.” His hands never stopped moving over the pale body underneath him, grasping and kneading, stroking the delicate skin. “I like to taste, to touch, to observe and learn. I like knowing that no matter when you leave my bed, I’ll be imprinted on every cell of your body and soul. That every lover after me will pale in comparison. And I think you’re almost there already, aren’t you? I haven’t even had you yet, but you can already feel me under your skin. You can feel that ache growing, pulling at you. You want me to touch you, to fill you, to grasp your hips and slide myself so deep inside your perfect arse that you can taste me.” His husky whisper was interrupted as Draco shuddered and cried out, coming onto the sheets.

 

“Oh fuck!” Draco panted. “I didn’t even realise I was hard again!”

 

Harry made a pleased purring noise, and whispered, his voice a breathy moan. “So responsive...” He gently rolled Draco onto his back, and began his ministrations again, starting at the exhausted blonde’s ear. “Now, let’s begin again, shall we?”

 

***

 

Draco woke when Harry got back from his shower and started pulling on clothes. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, looking at the clock on Harry’s bedside table. “Potter? What’s wrong? It’s four thirty in the morning!”

 

Harry glanced over his shoulder, gaze raking Draco’s body appreciatively. “Time for work. Go back to sleep if you want. There’s food in the kitchen; help yourself if you want something. Let yourself out when you’re done.” He stood, pulling his shirt over his head.

 

“What? Hell no. I want to see what you’ve been doing for the past four years!” Draco staggered out of bed and started hunting for his clothes, cursing as he kicked his toe in the half light.

 

Harry sighed and stopped him with hands on his shoulders. “That’s not necessary. We had fun last night, sure, but you don’t need to pretend to be interested in me beyond that. Besides, your clothing will stand out badly. Go home, keep quiet about having seen me, and have a wank when you miss my cock too badly.” He smirked slightly and kissed the indignant rebuttal clear out of Draco’s head, then turned and strode towards the door.

 

Draco lunged and caught his arm. “I’m serious. I want to know. Please?” He looked earnestly into Harry’s startled eyes.

 

Raising his eyebrows Harry sighed gustily, then crossed to the chest of draws, drawing out a shirt and soft pants. He tossed them to Draco unceremoniously. “Your shoes will do. Put these on. I’ll make breakfast.” He strolled out, ignoring the way Draco eyed the clothes he had been loaned.

 

When Draco emerged from the bedroom, Harry silently pointed at the coffee pot and the empty mug next to it and kept cooking. Smiling slightly at the blonde man’s blissful sigh as he sipped his drink, he started serving. “I apologize for the lack of bacon and other traditional breakfast grease. I don’t eat things like that anymore.”

 

Draco raised an eyebrow as Harry placed two bowls of porridge, two plates with boiled eggs and toast, yogurt, and a plate of assorted fruit and berries on the table, along with glasses of water. “This is your usual breakfast?”

 

“Mmhmm. I have a very specific meal plan. I have to, to maintain my bulk. It’s hard for me to keep it after years of malnutrition.”

 

Draco shot him a sharp look. “What?”

 

Harry glanced at him peacefully, not pausing his meal. “Surely the Wizarding world managed to dig up the details of my childhood by now?”

 

Draco shook his head numbly.

 

“Ah. Well, does your vow extend to anything regarding my past that I might tell you now?”

 

Draco nodded. “I would consider it so, but I can make another if you prefer?”

 

Harry shook his head. “Don’t bother. I don’t really care. I’ll trust you not to tell, and if you do, it wouldn’t be the first time someone has betrayed me.” His gaze hardened. “That said, if you _do_ tell, you won’t find me a second time.” Seeing Draco nod again, he continued eating. “I grew up with my Aunt and Uncle. They hated anything ‘abnormal’. Which for them, would include a magical child dumped on their doorstep in the middle of the night with an note advising that their sister had died and they now had another baby to care for. I spent the next ten years living in a cupboard under the stairs, with only enough food to make sure I didn’t die and could perform the chores they assigned me. Which was all of them. They tried to beat the magic out of me. When that didn’t work, things got… Worse. Don’t ask, because I will never talk about that, with you or anyone else. Suffice to say that I do what I can to make sure nobody else feels as helpless as I did. You finished?” He gestured to Draco’s plates.

 

Numbly, Draco helped carry the dishes to the sink. He sat back and sipped his coffee, watching Harry as he washed the dishes, taking the time to look around the kitchen. The benches were a dark grey granite, the sink and appliances a brushed steel. Wooden cupboards provided more storage space than could be reasonably expected in such a (to his mind) small space. The dining table was a cherry wood colour, small and scratched, but well maintained, even if the chairs around it were mismatched. The entire space was spotlessly clean, just like what he had glimpsed of the rest of the apartment. The entire effect was warm and homey, comforting in a way that his own Manor could never achieve.

 

His world had be turned upside down all over again, and looking back on his behaviour during their school years, he felt like a prat. He hadn’t known, and there was nothing he could do about it, but it was still a shock to realise that the boy who had saved them all time and time again, the man standing at the sink rippling with all that glorious muscle, who had sung so incredibly the night before, had been so horribly abused. Draco itched to touch him and make the bad thoughts go away.

 

He didn’t get his chance though, because Harry looked at the clock on the wall and cursed, striding to the door. “Come if you’re coming.” He called over his shoulder.

 

***

 

Apparently Harry liked to keep all aspects of his life as closely contained as possible. The flat they had just exited was located above Harry’s work. Draco looked up at the sign above the door. “The Kiln. _Really?_ ” He gave Harry a flat look.

 

Harry laughed. “What can I say, I have a weakness for puns, and it seemed appropriate.” Draco shook his head and followed Harry into the building.

 

The dark brick walls and scattered pillars that Draco had noticed in Harry’s flat continued downstairs. It could have felt oppressive, but Harry had lightened the atmosphere with floor to ceiling mirrors strategically placed along the walls, and bright lights set into the ceiling. The carpet was a heavy industrial grey, thick and tightly woven, designed for very heavy wear. To the left was a sunken floor, currently covered with blue matting, and surrounded by railings. A locker and shower room branched off to the right. The place felt welcoming, but with a serious air, as if the building itself would push you to become harder, faster, stronger. Aptly named indeed.

 

Harry turned on the lights, and spent a few minutes fiddling with a strange device in the office at the back. Music filled the air, fast beats with heavy drums, primal and punishing. Draco found himself enjoying the music far more than he would have expected. Listening to Harry prattle on about how he had found the building and renovated it himself, and his clients, and how he had gotten into martial arts in the first place, Draco found himself relaxing. He may be in a completely alien world, but being near Harry somehow made everything feel alright again.

 

Several hours later, Draco watched in awe as Harry worked. Who would have thought that the Saviour of the Wizarding World would go Muggle, and open a martial arts school and “gym”? The man was completely different to the boy who had fled his fame. He was self-confident, aware of his body and how it looked, but still not arrogant. He oozed sex appeal, and based on his performance the night before, didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it. The man was a predator, pure and simple. It was difficult to reconcile the differences.

 

He looked around at the machines, and had no idea what any of them did, but his attention was primarily on Harry as he taught a class basic self-defence. Draco had thought him magnificent on stage, but here, he was a god. He moved with the grace of a large cat, perfectly controlled, perfectly coordinated. His muscles shifted under his clothes, stretching and contracting as he demonstrated the moves to his students.

 

Draco cursed and ducked into the bathroom to relieve the tightness in his pants.

 

***

 

Harry sighed wearily and slumped back in his office chair, resting his head on the back and closing his eyes. Draco watched him quietly. He looked exhausted. Standing, he moved behind the weary man and started massaging his shoulders. Harry groaned appreciatively. “Where have you been all my life?”

 

Draco grinned. “Why Potter, are you flirting with me?”

 

Harry snorted, then moaned slightly as Draco worked a particularly unforgiving knot. “I was talking to your hands.”

 

Chuckling, Draco kept working the bunched muscles. “Uh huh, sure. So, you’ve been at work for fourteen hours. What do you normally do now?”

 

Harry sighed and sat up, dislodging the hands that were sending him into a stupor. He pulled a plastic container off the shelf and added some water to the powder in it. Shaking it briskly then pouring it down his throat, he wiped his lips. “Now, I do _my_ workout.” He glanced back and chuckled at the horrified expression Draco wore. “I told you Malfoy, its hard work to keep up my bulk.” His eyes darkened. “And you certainly seemed to enjoy it last night.”

 

Draco felt himself blushing. _Blushing_! He cleared his throat. “Yes, well. I suppose I should be getting home.” He looked away, cursing in his mind. He felt like a coward.

 

Shrugging, Harry stood and stretched. “Alright. Bye.” He started to walk towards the door, but found himself restrained by a hand on his arm. Apparently this was going to be a habit with them.

 

“I really do have to get home, but,” Draco bit his lip, then decided to take a risk. His world had changed last night, and he couldn’t tolerate the thought of giving it up. “Could I come back some time?”

 

Harry looked at him impassively. His face had shuttered, his eyes hard and emotionless. “That depends on you. If you plan to try to convince me to come back to the Wizarding world, you needn’t bother.” He raked his gaze down the slim blonde’s body, smirking at the obvious twitch in Draco’s pants. “If you just wanted a repeat of last night, then I suppose so.” He turned back to the door and sauntered through with an absent wave over his shoulder, not looking back.

 

***

 

“Who is it?” Blaise asked as he stepped out of the Floo and into Draco’s sitting room.

 

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you mean.”

 

Blaise rolled his eyes. “You have that look. The one you only get after you have been thoroughly shagged. For Merlin’s sake, are you _bouncing_?”

 

Draco didn’t bother to calm himself, he just jumped to his feet and started pacing. And if his step had a little extra spring, well, who cared? “I can’t tell you.” He held up a hand, stopping Blaise’s irritable retort. “I vowed on my magic, so no, you won’t get it out of me. But _Merlin_ ,” he threw himself dramatically on the chaise, “the man is a _god_!”

 

The Floo flared green again, and Pansy stepped out, brushing the soot off her clothes. She looked up, then sighed as she saw Draco. “Who is it?”


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was in the kitchen when Draco knocked on the door. Sauntering in when Harry flicked his wand and opened the door for him, he leaned against the kitchen’s entryway and watched the darker man, admiring again the beautiful physique and predator’s grace. He adjusted himself briefly. “Got enough for two?”

 

Harry glanced over his shoulder, eyes scorching a path down Draco’s body in a way that left the slender man feeling flushed and faintly violated. “That can be arranged.” He turned back to his cooking, getting out an extra portion to accommodate his unexpected guest.

 

Draco cleared his throat. “I was wondering something.” He continued at Harry’s questioning grunt. “Do Weasley and Granger know where you are?”

 

Harry laughed. “Of course. Though it was a few months before I let them know. They _really_ weren’t happy with me. But they understand why I did what I did.” He waved a hand negligently. “Bygones and all that. They drop by occasionally. Worried about bumping into them?”

 

Shaking his head, Draco walked across the room and leaned against the bench so he could see Harry’s face as they talked. “No. But I thought you might be worried about how they would react if they knew we were involved.”

 

Harry arched an eyebrow but didn’t look up. “We aren’t. We fucked. That isn’t the same thing, and I’m sure you know that, given your reputation. As for their reactions, they know better than to try to dictate to me now. They may not approve, but they know that I’ll simply disappear again if they try to control me.”

 

Draco stared. This was a side of Harry that he would never have expected. “You sound like you don’t care about them. And how the hell do you know my reputation?”

 

Harry did look up briefly then. “I do. Very much. But I spent seventeen years having my every action controlled and manipulated, resulting in me _dying_. I’m not the same person as I used to be.” He trailed off and stared past Draco’s shoulder for a moment, then shook his head and turned back to his cooking. “I was different when I came back, and they’ve learned to deal with that. They know they can talk to me about anything, but I won’t tolerate them telling me what, or _who_ I can do.” He smirked slightly and glanced sideways. “As for your reputation, I keep an eye on the Wizarding World so I can tell if someone is getting close to finding me. Those sort of rumours come up every so often. But I hear your name more regularly than mine these days.” Draco preened slightly, but flushed when Harry smirked at him. “As I understand it, you’re quite the playboy. I think I remember something about Andre Featherlight, and Toby McIntire, and Michael Allens. And didn’t you do the entire Falmouth Falcons team at one point? Oh, and that dancer, what was his name? Eric something?”

 

Draco waved his hand and rolled his eyes. “Yes yes, I’m a slut. You know me so well.”

 

Harry stepped close, arms braced on either side of the slender man. Hovering his body barely a centimetre away from Draco’s, trapping him against the bench and staring into the wide grey eyes fixed on his face. He leaned his mouth close to Draco’s ear and purred, “Oh but I do. I know you, and I know your body. I know all the places that make you shiver, all the points that make you arch and moan. I know that the inside of your elbow being bitten makes you whine, and that stroking behind your knee makes you tremble and wrap your legs around my waist. I know that biting your bottom lip makes you gasp and cling to my shoulders. I know that you like to be worked up slowly, and taken hard. I know that you love having your jawline bitten while my hands grip your arse. I know you have ticklish feet and can’t stand having them touched, but having your ankle nibbled and the tendon bitten makes you hard as a rock. I know that licking that spot behind your ear makes your eyes roll back in your head. I know that having your hair lightly tugged makes your breath hitch.” Harry lowered his voice until it was barely audible. “And I know I can make you come with just my voice.”

 

Draco’s gasped and shuddered as he did just that, and would have fallen if Harry hadn’t braced him with an arm around his waist. He dropped his head onto Harry’s shoulder and chuckled self-consciously. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

 

“Why?” Harry murmured, stroking the silky blonde hair nestled against his face. “You’re beautiful when you come, and I like bringing you pleasure. And that _is_ why you’re here, is it not?” His tone was lightly mocking, but he smiled softly, and stepped back once Draco’s legs stopped shaking.

 

They sat at the table, and Draco eyed his plate, slightly intimidated by the amount of food on it. There was grilled chicken, brown rice, assorted steamed vegetables, and a dark bread of some sort that Harry claimed to have made himself (from scratch, the show off). Taking a delicate bite, he was surprised at how good it was, despite the lack of rich sauces or spices. Or house elves. Harry’s amused smile simply made him glare slightly and take another bite.

 

“I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you again.” Harry spoke quietly after a while, sipping his water.

 

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Why? I did ask if I could come back.”

 

Harry nodded, chewing, then continued when his mouth was empty. “Considering our history, I’d assumed it was a night of curiosity and nothing more. Or that you would try to talk me into going back.” He cast a sharp look at his dinner companion.

 

“I won’t. I have to admit, I like the idea of my mystery lover being _you_ , of all people. Blaise and Pansy are driving themselves mad trying to work out who you are.” He chuckled. Leaning back, he eyed Harry’s body openly. “I like knowing things other people don’t. I always have. Usually it’s for blackmail, but in this case, it’s simply a turn on.” He licked his bottom lip, and smirked as he saw Harry’s eyes follow it. The smirk changed to a grin when Harry abruptly stood and dragged him into the bedroom.

 

***

 

“I want more.”

 

Harry stilled at the demanding tone. “What?”

 

“It’s been six months. I want more.”

 

Draco had that determined look, the one that Harry knew meant trouble. He knew it because the last time it had appeared, Draco had convinced him to play some stupid drinking game that resulted in Harry throwing up off the top of the London Eye then Splinching himself when he tried to Apparate home. He cleared his throat. “Care to elaborate?”

 

Sitting on the scruffy coffee table, Draco leaned forward with an intensity that made Harry squirm slightly in his favourite chair. “We’ve been fucking for six months. I want to have a real relationship with you. I know you won’t come back to the Wizarding world, and I don’t care. But I want more than what we have. I want you to be mine, and to be yours. Exclusive and serious.”

 

Harry stared, gaze darting over the familiar pale face, bereft of its usual smirks and sneers. He was surprised that Draco would speak so plainly, and even more so that he would put himself in such a potentially vulnerable position. “If you know that I won’t go back, then why would you want more with me? Think about it. Say for a moment we dated and it’s a year or two in the future. Then what? What happens when we want to live together? I won’t move back, and you wouldn’t be happy living a Muggle life. We both know that. We couldn’t progress any further.” He watched Draco’s face carefully through his speech. He didn’t want to hurt the man, quite the opposite in fact. He wanted nothing more than to agree, craved it with a hunger that chewed up his insides. But apparently he was to be the villain in this story, or at least the voice of reason. “I can’t give you what you want, Draco.”

 

Draco’s eyes flared stubbornly. “We can find a compromise if we come to that point. We’ve managed for this long.” His voice became soft, and he kneeled gracefully next to Harry’s legs, resting a hand on his lover’s knee. “Please Harry. Just give us a chance to find out.” He leaned forward, eyes beseeching.

 

Harry closed his eyes, jaw clenched. He could feel his determination crumbling to non-existence, the temptation to give in surging inside his chest. “Do you remember the first night you came back? You asked about Ron and Hermione, and I told you that they had learned not to dictate to me.” He opened his eyes, and his gaze was hard enough that Draco flinched. “They also learned not to try to manipulate me. I’d suggest you learn that lesson. Right now, in fact.”

 

Draco’s face paled unhealthily and he sat back, snatching his hand away like he had been burned. Harry cursed under his breath and stood. He walked to the kitchen, coming back with two tumblers of the Suntory whiskey he had won the night Draco had found him. He handed one to the shaken blonde, and resumed his seat.

 

“Harry, I…” Draco began in an anguished tone, but trailed off at the hard look he received.

 

“Draco, you need to understand. I’m not the boy you knew in school. You’ve gotten to know me better over the last six months, but there is still a lot you don’t know. So I’ll say this only once. I’ll agree to more with you, but if you make demands of me like that again, you’ll find out how good I am at disappearing. And if I’m feeling vindictive, I may even subject you one of my potions first.”

 

Draco blanched, remembering the one and only time he had asked Harry to help him brew. It was shortly after their renewed acquaintance, and had somehow resulted in an explosion of purple smoke that stained everything it touched and was resistant to all methods of cleaning, magical or muggle. Worse, it was immune to glamours. Pansy and Blaise had ribbed him mercilessly about the purple splotches on his skin and hair until they finally faded a week later. Swallowing, he focused on the part of that sentence that he actually liked. “So, you agree?”

 

“Yeah.” Harry leered slightly, trailing his fingers up Draco’s arm. “I’m already used to having you around. I reckon I can cope with a bit more from your scrawny arse.” He laughed at Draco’s indignant squawk and ducked the cuff aimed at his head. “Come here.” He yanked his sulking lover onto his lap and kissed him, showing him _exactly_ what he wanted from said behind.

 

***

 

“Draco darling, walk me to the Floo?”

 

Draco raised an eyebrow, but escorted Pansy as requested. They paused in front of the ornate marble fireplace, and faced each other. Leaning against the mantelpiece, Draco crossed his ankles and waited patiently for her to speak.

 

“It’s time, Draco.” Pansy drew herself up, raising her chin.

 

“For what?” He frowned at her in confusion.

 

She gave him a withering look. “You’ve had your fun, and I think I have been more than patient with you and your constant flings. It’s time to settle down. You know that your parents planned for us to marry.”

 

Carefully blanking his face, Draco stared. “I was under the impression we had discussed this. I told you it wasn’t going to happen, given that I’m gay and not even remotely attracted to you.”

 

Pansy waved her hand dismissively. “Attraction is irrelevant. We simply need to marry and produce an heir. If you want your male lovers on the side I have no objections as long as you are discrete.”

 

“Pansy, I’m not going to marry you. I did tell you this. And even if I did, I couldn’t produce an heir with you. As far as that’s concerned, a degree of attraction _is_ relevant.” Draco fought the urge to scowl, keeping his face as neutral as possible.

 

Pansy patted him on the arm, smiling slightly. “I know you think that, and I knew that you would object to giving up some of your freedom. But it will be alright. We will be happy. You’ll see.” She took a pinch of Floo powder, and disappeared into the flames.

 

Draco stared after her and fought the urge to run his hands through his hair in frustration. Blasted woman was like a bulldog at the best of times, and now that she had her teeth into this, it was going to be a royal pain to get her to give it up. Cursing, Draco stalked outside the wards and Apparated to the one person he knew would make him feel better. Harry had that knack.

 

***

 

“Did you hear about Magda Thomas?”

 

“Who?” Draco asked distractedly.

 

“Magda Thomas. A Muggleborn witch a few years behind us at Hogwarts. She had a cousin in our year, a Gryffindor. I forget his name. Anyway, I believe she graduated last year.” Blaise watched him patiently.

 

“You mean Dean Thomas? Isn’t he married to the Weaselette now? I didn’t know he had a cousin.” Draco played with his collar, oh so casually exposing a bruise on his neck. His efforts to tempt Blaise into asking were studiously ignored.

 

“’Had’ is right. She was murdered yesterday.” Blaise hid his smirk as Draco continued to try to steer the conversation to his mystery lover. He ignored the stab of annoyance that he still hadn’t worked out who it was.

 

“Really? What happened?” Draco’s eyes sparked with interest.

 

Blaise looked at Pansy, continuing to ignore Draco’s incessant posturing and unsubtle hints. “She was found in her home, gutted. According to my sources, she was a real mess. There was a faint magical signature, but they haven’t been able to identify it yet. They may not be able to.” He paused, enjoying the look of horrified disgust on Pansy’s face.

 

“Do they knew who did it?” Draco tried to pull Blaise’s attention back to him.

 

Blaise shook his head. “Not yet. Word is they’re looking to question her lover, but they haven’t identified him yet.”

 

“Why exactly do we care about some Mudblood getting offed?” Pansy murmured. She blushed slightly under the pitying looks she received.

 

“Because we care about Mudbloods now, remember?” Blaise’s tone was patronising, causing Draco to smirk and Pansy to scowl.

 

“In public, I would agree.” Sulking, Pansy finished her tea and stood, sweeping out of the room, giving Draco a significant look, which he thoroughly ignored.

 

Blaise watched the interaction with a frown. “What was that about?”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Apparently the fact that I’m gay and told her I won’t be marrying her is irrelevant. She’s decided that it’s time we settled down together and produced an heir.”

 

Blaise stared. “Seriously? Aside from the obvious problems with her plan, what does your mystery man have to say on the subject? I get the impression you’re serious about this one.”

 

Draco hummed in pleasure. “He was not best pleased. Though he did express some truly creative ideas that I’m still not certain are anatomically possible, and a few suggestions for where to hide the body. He’s rather protective.” The smug tones were almost enough to make Blaise gag. “It’s fortunate they’re unlikely to meet.”

 

“I do wish you would tell me who he is.” Blaise watched the slim blonde carefully. “Or why you haven’t introduced us yet. If I hadn’t seen you prancing around and preening over him…” Blaise paled and trailed off. “Oh Merlin, tell me he isn’t a Muggle!”

 

Draco snorted inelegantly, and started laughing hard enough that he toppled off his chair onto the floor, arms clutched around his aching ribs. Regaining his breath, he gasped, “No, he isn’t, but I’m going to tell him you said that. He’s just obsessively private.”

 

“And he agreed to take up with _you_?”

 

Climbing back into his chair, Draco smiled and nodded peacefully, still chuckling slightly. “I do wish he would announce our relationship publicly of course, but as soppy as it sounds, he’s worth it. I don’t know if he’ll ever reveal himself, or allow me to introduce you even if we stay together long term. I hope he might, but I won’t push the issue.”

 

Blaise whistled lowly. “I never thought I’d see the day. You’ve got it _bad_.”

 

Pretending he wasn’t blushing, Draco ignored the accusation. “Any ideas for how to deal with Pansy?”


	4. Chapter 4

“Draco Malfoy?”

 

Draco looked up from the book he was considering buying for Harry, and peered at the burly man in well-worn dark blue Aurors robes. “Yes?”

 

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Magda Thomas.” The Auror kept his voice cool and professional, but he didn’t try disguising the eager glint in his eye. He grabbed Draco’s arm and bound his hands tightly behind his back, briskly patting him down and confiscating his wand. He started to drag him from the store, causing Draco to stumble to keep his feet.

 

“Pardon?” Draco blinked in confusion. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but I’ve never even met the woman!” Draco fought to keep his calm, scrambling in a highly undignified manner to avoid falling. He was conscious of the gaping and whispering crowd that was gathering to observe his humiliation.

 

The Auror was clearly revelling in arresting one of the infamously slippery Malfoy’s. He subtly yanked on Draco’s arm, causing him to stumble again. “Of course you haven’t.” He sneered. “You may have gotten away with your sick predilections during the war, but we’ve finally got you.” He leaned close and hissed into Draco’s ear. “It’s a different world now, and this time Harry Potter isn’t here for you to bribe into testifying for you!” Draco’s reply was lost as the Auror slapped a portkey against his chest, sending him to a Ministry holding cell in a swirl of colour, the eager gossiping of the witnesses ringing in his ears.

 

***

 

Harry stepped back and observed the table settings, then nodded with satisfaction. Spotless glasses, the pale blue and green fabric placemats that Draco had found and decided that Harry simply _had_ to have, he’d even polished the cutlery. Draco would tease him mercilessly when he learned about that.

 

He glanced around the flat, looking for something out of place that he could tidy, but everything was as spotless as it always was. Harry wondered vaguely if his devotion to cleanliness was becoming obsessive, but decided it didn’t really matter.

 

He returned to his food preparation, tossing the garden salad and checking the timer for the roast chicken. Taking a deep breath to calm the shaking of his hands as he cut the bread, he tried to ignore the anxious fluttering in his stomach. It didn’t help.

 

Draco had shyly asked to be formally introduced as Harry’s partner to Ron and Hermione. Harry had been reluctant, but had crumbled at his lover’s unrelenting puppy eyes, muttering curses to himself for being so easily manipulated.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell his friends; it was that he didn’t want to deal with the furtive glances loaded with silent communication between Ron and Hermione, or the barely bitten back insults from Draco, or the inevitably stilted conversation and pregnant silences. But Draco had asked so sweetly, and Harry had been unable to find a logical reason to deny him, especially since they had been officially together for four months. Harry rubbed his eyes. Life was much simpler before Draco had found him.

 

The tingle of the wards let him know that someone had arrived. Walking to the door, Harry checked though the peephole before opening it. He already knew who it was, but old habits die hard, and he still hadn’t lost some of the paranoia earned during the war. He wondered absently why he’d been comfortable enough to let Draco in without a check the first day he’d come back.

 

“Hey guys, come in,” he greeted his friends, and stepped aside so the tall redheaded man and his petite brunette wife could enter. He took their cloaks and hung them up, avoiding their amused expressions at his fussing. He knew he was being ridiculous, but they understood his quirks when he felt stressed. Gesturing them towards the kitchen, he poured them some wine.

 

“You’ve been very secretive about your new lover,” Hermione grinned. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

 

Harry blushed and mumbled.

 

Hermione reached out and gently grasped his sweating hand. “Relax, Harry. You know we love you, and I’m sure we’ll love her too.”

 

He bit his lip and stared at their joined hands. “Um, it’s a he, actually.”

 

Ron grinned smugly and turned to Hermione, holding out his hand. “Pay up!” He pouted when she rolled her eyes and ignored him in favour of her wine.

 

Harry coughed to regain their attention. “Also, you know him. I know it might seem strange, but please believe me, he’s very different now. And he makes me happy. I mean _really_ happy. I know it’s going to be awkward and difficult, but it would really mean a lot to me if you could all get along.”

 

His friends frowned at him in confusion, and Harry wished desperately that he could regain his usual calm and confident manner. He felt like a teenager introducing his date to his parents.

 

“Mate, please tell me it isn’t who I think it is.” Ron placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders and leaned down slightly to force eye contact.

 

Harry winced and fidgeted. “Er,” he mumbled eloquently.

 

“Mate?” Ron was pleading now, and Harry squirmed.

 

Taking a deep breath, Harry blurted it out. “It’s Draco Malfoy.” He closed his eyes and braced for the shouting to begin.

 

Silence.

 

He cracked an eye open, to see Ron looking unusually solemn, and Hermione with her eyes wide and her hand lightly covering her mouth.

 

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered.

 

Harry cleared his throat and stepped away slightly. Turning his head, he tucked his chin defensively, crossing his arms. “I know that you probably don’t understand, but he really is different now.” He knew he was repeating himself, but he couldn’t stop. “He makes me happy. It’s been so long since I felt anything approaching what I feel with him. He – he makes me feel alive again. Less afraid of being found. And he doesn’t try to make me into something I’m not; he sees me for _me_ , and he _likes_ what he sees. He even likes the martial arts I do, and doesn’t think my job beneath me.” He shot a quick glance at Hermione and caught her guilty wince. “He _accepts me_ , just as I am. I – I haven’t said it to him yet, but I’m pretty sure I love him.” Harry shrugged helplessly. “I want to be with him long term. Enough that I might even consider going back one day if he asked me too.” His voice was shaking, and he knew he was getting slightly hysterical, but he didn’t think he could control himself any better at that point in time.

 

Ron stepped towards him, and placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder again. “Um, mate, I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but I don’t think Malfoy will be joining us tonight.”

 

Harry looked up at him, suspicious.

 

Ron cleared his throat again and glanced helplessly at Hermione, before turning back to him. “He was arrested this morning.”

 

“What? What for?” Harry felt himself paling and flushing in turns, so rapidly that he was slightly concerned he may faint at some point in the near future.

 

“Murder.” Ron looked pained, but didn’t try to soften the blow.

 

Dropping into his seat, Harry stared blankly for a few moments in shock. Murder? He closed his eyes, and watched as images of Draco flashed behind his lids. Blonde hair flashing and glinting in the sunlight. Pale skin flushed and expression hungry as he watched Harry work. Grey eyes shining and lips curling with laughter as they shared a picnic on the living room floor because it had rained and ruined their plans for the afternoon. Whispered prayers to unheeding gods as he came apart in Harry’s arms.

 

No. It wasn’t possible.

 

Harry opened his eyes, all traces of his previous anxiety gone. His green eyes were hard and his spine stiff. His magic crackled around him in an aura only just outside the visible spectrum. “Tell me everything.”

 

***

 

Draco sat in the interrogation room, and tried to ignore the pain in his back and legs from the hard wooden chair. His hands were bound behind his back still, and the ache in his shoulders was becoming unbearable. Not that he would complain, of course. The Aurors had shown a positive delight in his discomfort, and he was quite unwilling to give them further ammunition.

 

He quietly observed the Auror opposite him. Auror Alex Mathieson was around forty, tall, painfully thin, and with a wispy blonde beard that hung in limp waves to his waist. Draco privately thought that the man would look better clean shaven, since his hair growth was so sparse it could barely be called a beard in the first place. It looked like he had stuck random threads to his chin.

 

“Mr Malfoy, you _must_ understand how much trouble you are in.” Mathieson leaned forward, hands clasped on the table between them. “You claim to have never met Miss Thomas, but you were seen entering and exiting her home on a regular basis for the past month by several witnesses.” He gently opened his hands in a beseeching manner, inviting Draco to explain. He wore an earnest expression, and his body language invited confidences and confessions.

 

It was a tactic that had undoubtedly worked for him many times, but unfortunately for him, Draco was a master of such manipulations himself. He sat perfectly still, and kept his voice the same calm monotone he had been using for the past several hours. He couldn’t tell exactly what time it was since there were no clocks or windows, but he estimated that it was late enough that Harry would know he was missing now. Maybe Weasley and Granger had told him what had happened. He vaguely recalled Harry mentioning that Weasley was an Auror. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t know her, and even if I did, I can’t think of any reason why I would be visiting her.”

 

“And yet you were seen leaving her home the night she was murdered.” Mathieson’s voice was soft, coaxing.

 

“I’ve already told you, I was with my boyfriend that night.”

 

Mathieson leaned back in his chair, dropping the conciliatory air. “Ah yes, this mysterious boyfriend. The one that you refuse to name, even though he could provide you with an alibi.”

 

Draco ruthlessly supressed the urge to glare, and kept his face neutral. “I’ve already explained that I’m under a vow that prevents me from giving you details about him.”

 

“And why is that, I wonder?” Bored tones now, as he examined his fingernails.

 

“He’s intensely private.”

 

“Yes, I suppose imaginary people would be,” Mathieson mused.

 

Draco hung onto his calm façade by the narrowest of margins. He knew very well what Mathieson’s game was, and he refused to lose control and let the bastard win; especially since that would only make him look guiltier. Taking slow breaths, he kept his gaze locked onto the watery grey eyes opposite him, and maintained his silence. They had been at this for hours, and exhaustion was beginning to wear at him. They had presented him with the ‘evidence’, and Draco had to admit that it was a compelling argument for his guilt. Without being able to provide an alibi, there was no way that Draco could prove his innocence. Taking Veritaserum might have solved the issue, except that one poorly (or deliberately) worded question could lead to a violation of his vow and evoke the consequential loss of his magic.

 

He didn’t delude himself that Harry would give up his self-imposed exile to swoop in dramatically and save him. He’d made it very clear that under no circumstances would he ever return, even for Draco. Even if Weasley and Granger had told him Draco’s current predicament, he wouldn’t come into the centre of Wizarding Britain just to release Draco from the vow; but unless he did, Draco was going to spend the next decade or more in Azkaban.  He ruthlessly suppressed the urge to sob.

 

_Please Harry, please come for me…_


	5. Chapter 5

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly and pushed back his chair.

 

‘ _Coffee_.’

 

His tired brain refocused on its most pressing need and dragged his exhausted body into the kitchen. Resting a hip on the bench as the coffee brewed, he crossed his arms, hugging his ribs tightly. He knew it was just a trick of exhaustion and worry, but he felt colder, like the warmth that Draco brought to his life was fading away.

 

Rousing himself when the machine finished, he walked back across the open space between the kitchen and his study nook. He liked having the space to practice his martial arts without having to go to The Kiln. The polished hardwood floors weren’t as easy on the joints as the spring floors, but they were considerably easier to keep clean. The open space was soothing, the scattered brick pillars lending a stable feeling to the room. He stood, looking at the large pin board he had transfigured from a broken pencil and stuck to the wall.

 

Ron had gone above and beyond for him, managing to get a self-updating copy of the Thomas case file. Together the three of them had gone over every single piece of parchment and photograph until exhaustion had forced his friends home to get some sleep. But Harry couldn’t rest. He knew that he wasn’t going to solve the crime in one night, but that didn’t ease his feverish need to find the answer. Ron and Hermione, bless them, had taken his statement of Draco’s innocence as gospel, and were equally determined to find the real perpetrator. His assurance that Draco had been with him the night of the murder was met with supportive nods and offers of help, as well as a pleasant lack of disgusted noises or scowling from Ron about it being _Malfoy_.

 

Harry sipped his coffee, barely noticing he had forgotten to sweeten it. Gazing blankly at the board, he forced his wandering brain to _think_ , rather than panic about what Draco might be suffering in the custody of the Aurors. Ron was going to check on him, and would report back if anything untoward was happening. He refused to consider what he would do if Draco wasn’t being cared for properly.

 

_‘One problem at a time.’_

 

‘ _Releasing the vow won’t be enough’_ , he mused as the coffee began its work. _‘They’d keep after him, even if he’s cleared with Veritaserum. The evidence is substantial, but it’s also circumstantial. The problem is it doesn’t_ look _circumstantial with him unable to speak freely because of the vow. And even then, unless we can point them in the right direction they’ll refuse to look further.’_

 

Closing his eyes and tilting his head back until he faced the ceiling, he rocked slightly in place as he allowed his mind to drift. _‘He isn’t his father, but the societal hatred for anyone from that family is going to make this harder than ever. No, anything less than finding the real murderer, before rescuing Draco will just be asking for trouble later on.’_

He rubbed his eyes and sighed, rolling his shoulders to work out some of the stiffness. _‘I doubt we’ll have much time to find the answers before Draco’s trial. If he’s sentenced it’ll be nearly impossible to get the case reviewed.’_

 

He sighed, and daydreamed wistfully of just breaking Draco out and disappearing together, never to be heard from again.

 

_‘Maybe Canada. Canada was supposed to be nice, wasn’t it?’_

 

His lip curled in a half smile as he pictured Draco’s girly shrieks if he met a moose.

 

Focus restored, Harry took the pictures of the crime scene off the board and leaned over them with a magnifying charm, ready to begin again.

 

***

 

Draco sat up blearily as the lights in his cell brightened suddenly. They never turned off, but they had been dimmed a little so he could sleep. He turned towards the door and tried to keep his face neutral when he saw who had decided to pay him a visit.

 

Ron Weasley sneered at him, then turned to the Auror who had let him in and slipped him a small vial of iridescent blue potion.

 

Draco thought it was a narcotic that had been popular in the party scene lately. He didn’t react when the door shut behind Weasley, locking them in together. When the barely felt buzz of the monitoring charms disappeared, Draco raised an eyebrow and sighed in resignation. “I assume you’ll be keeping to the same rules as the others then; nothing visible? Alright. Get on with it.”

 

He was mildly surprised at his lack of audible bitterness.

 

Weasley’s gaze sharpened on him. “They’ve hurt you?”

 

Draco sneered but refused to answer.

 

Raising his wand, Weasley quickly cast a few diagnostic charms, hissing under his breath as the results wrote themselves on a conjured parchment.

 

“Cracked ribs, pain curse exposure, dehydration, bruised organs… Oh, Harry is going to be _pissed_.” He looked back to Draco.

 

“Do you remember who did this to you? He’ll tear them to pieces for laying a finger on you.”

 

His expression was grim.

 

Snorting softly, Draco lay back down and closed his eyes.

 

“Of course I remember who they were. Well, some of them anyway. But nothing will happen to them, from Harry or anyone else. We both know Harry isn’t coming back to the Wizarding world, even to keep me out of prison.”

 

Ron snarled, surprising Draco into opening his eyes to look at him.

 

“You _prat_! Do you really think Harry would let the man he loves go to prison for something he didn’t do? He’s turning over the daily running of The Kiln to one of his staff so he can devote himself to finding the evidence to free you!”

 

Draco blinked.

 

“What? He wouldn’t do that. He loves that place and doesn’t trust any of his staff enough to manage his baby.” He paused, assimilating the rest of that statement.

 

“Wait, ‘the man he loves’?” He stumbled to a stop, staring at the blushing redhead.

 

“Um, yeah, he loves you. When he tells you, just act surprised, alright? If he finds out that I told you before he gets to, he’ll hit me again.”

 

Weasley winced at the memory, then shook his head.

 

“Anyway, he sent me to make sure you’re ok, and to tell you that he’s working on your case. Hermione and I are doing what we can as well, although we can’t be seen helping in case it’s a deliberate plot.

 

“Harry’s really going to war on this.” Ron closed his eyes for a moment and shivered. “I’m telling you, if you’re being set up I don’t envy the bastard who’s trying. Harry’s going to bring everything he has against them to protect you. And if the courts don’t do enough, I wouldn’t be surprised if he deals with it personally.

 

“It wouldn’t be the first time he went ‘hunting’ when someone hurt a person he considers as being under his protection.”

 

He shook his head sharply, and adopted a more business-like tone.

 

“But the main thing right now is to not give up, and do what you can to remember anyone who causes you problems. I’ll come again when I can.”

 

He turned and put his hand on the door, then paused and looked back.

 

“Did you want me to pass on a message for you?”

 

Blinking hard against tears, Draco swallowed. “Tell him – tell him I’m sorry I missed dinner.”

 

Ron nodded and smiled slightly. “I’ll tell him.”

 

He turned back to the door and knocked to be let out, adopting a pleased and slightly malicious smirk as he left, muttering something to the guard about feeling better for having a go at the poncy git. The guards laughter was cut off as the door shut and the monitoring spells snapped back on.

 

Draco closed his eyes again and tried to slow his breathing to ease the ache in his ribs. But nothing could dull the elation running through him. ‘ _He loves me, and he’s going to save me. He isn’t going to let me go.’_

***

 

Harry snapped awake on the knock at the door. Glancing at the wall clock, he was surprised to realise it was nearly nine in the morning. Blinking sleep out of his eyes, and carefully detaching a clinging piece of parchment from his face, he ran his hand through his hair and shuffling across the room while yawning hard enough to crack his jaw and make his eyes water. He tried to pull his muzzy thoughts into some semblance of order.

 

He staggered back with a curse as he walked into one of the pillars that he had been admiring last night, casting an irritable glare at the offending brick work.

 

Leaning forward to peer into the peephole, and cursing again as he bumped his head in the exact same spot, he grumpily contemplated if he should get an award of some kind for not killing whoever was on the other side of the door. Impatiently throwing it open, he waved Hermione in with a negligent flick of his hand.

 

She eyed his dishevelled and slightly smelly state with resignation. “You fell asleep at your desk didn’t you,” she stated, and clucked disapprovingly at his sheepish look. “I knew you would, so I took the day off work. Go have a shower while I cook you breakfast.” Levelling a stern look at him when he opened his mouth to object, she stalked into the kitchen.

 

Smiling fondly at her back, Harry yawned again and drifted into his ensuite. She would make his normal breakfast, he knew. She understood. She always had.

 

Stripping off and stepping into the shower, he groaned as the hot water hit his shoulders. He hadn’t realised how tense he was, or how sore his back was from sleeping slumped over his desk.  

 

Leaning against the wall he let the water run over and pummel his weary body.

 

His lips curved into a slight smile as he remembered the time Draco had decided Harry needed pampering, and had proceeded to scrub and massage every centimetre of skin he could get his hands on. Of course this led to Harry taking him against the shower wall while they both half drowned in the spray. Draco had complained bitterly about getting water in his ears and demanded that Harry make him the secret recipe hot chocolate, that Harry had gotten him addicted to, as restitution.

 

Twitching when the wards tingled to let him know someone else had arrived, he relaxed when he heard Ron’s voice. Scrubbing quickly with the faintly scented body wash and shampoo that Draco had decided should stay, since he was over so often and Harry’s muggle products were so inferior, he stepped out of the shower and snatched up a fluffy oversized towel. Rubbing himself down, he wrapped it around his waist and went in search of the most comfortable clothes he owned.

 

He emerged from his room refreshed and focused, sporting bare feet, track pants and a Metallica shirt that Draco had slept in and hadn’t washed yet.

 

Harry pinned his desperate gaze on Ron.

 

“Did you see him? Is he alright? Have they hurt him? What did he look like? What did he say? Did he send a message?”

 

His frantic flurry of questions came to a sharp stop when Ron simply placed his hand over Harry’s mouth and gave him a patient look.

 

“Yes I saw him,” Ron began quietly. “I bribed the guard to let me ‘have some fun’ with him.” He grimaced in disgust. “I wasn’t the first. He’s alright, but he’s been worked over a bit.”

 

He handed Harry the parchment with the diagnostic results and waited quietly while Harry read them.

 

Harry skimmed the parchment quickly and loosed a low, bone rattling growl. The sound was dangerous and animalistic, and quite possibly the most terrifying thing Ron had ever heard in his entire life. The shivers rolled down his spine and it took everything he had not to touch his wand for reassurance. He remembered the last time that he had heard Harry make a sound like that. Someone had attacked one of the street kids that Harry volunteered with, putting her in hospital. The girl had been beaten and raped, and Harry had disappeared for two days, returning with scraped knuckles and a grim smile.

 

Ron had no doubt that someone was going to die for Draco’s injuries.

 

He cleared his throat. “He asked me to pass on a message.”

 

He was gratified when Harry’s eyes snapped to his, eliminating the immediate danger.

 

He smiled gently. “He says he’s sorry he missed dinner.”

 

Harry closed his eyes and choked slightly. Typical of Draco to focus on that, trying to make Harry feel better the only way he could. He may be vain, arrogant, self-centred, and thoroughly spoiled by living it up on Daddy’s money, but he would do anything he could for the people he cared about.

 

Hugging himself, he turned his head to his shoulder and focused on the faint scent that clung to the shirt. He supposed that finding comfort from the scent of his lover’s unwashed clothing was pathetic, and possibly a little gross, but right now he didn’t care. He needed it.

 

He didn’t realise tears were leaking from his eyes until he felt both Ron and Hermione wrap their arms around him, holding him tightly and stroking his back and hair. Resting against them, he drew on their solidity to keep himself grounded. No matter what, he knew they would support him. The ache in his heart eased slightly, and he felt his body starting to relax.

 

Ron’s stomach rumbled.

 

Laughing, they separated, sat at the table and dug into the mountain of food that Hermione had prepared. She had thoughtfully brought along some bacon and sausages for Ron, who was never satisfied even with the large amount of food that Harry prepared; apparently because of a lack of grease. According to Ron, Harry’s diet was proof of some underlying lack of British pride, and was therefore unhealthy. Their debate about it had been ongoing for years, and didn’t show any signs of being resolved in the near future. Hermione’s rolled eyes and determined silence merely made them argue louder and longer.

 

What she didn’t know was that whoever made her crack and step in won a bottle of wine and a box of Honeyduke’s finest.

 

***

 

Harry scowled and leaned back in his favourite chair with an irritable huff. His friends glanced up at him sympathetically. “I don’t understand it,” he muttered. “Why Draco? There’s no doubt the witnesses think they saw him entering and leaving Thomas’s cottage regularly for the past month, and they all assumed he was her lover. A reasonable assumption, if you overlook the fact that he’s gay, and very publicly so. But then suddenly she ends up dead? What changed? Is it even related? Maybe there’s another motive that isn’t related to the Draco impersonator.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully as he stared at the wall.

 

Hermione tapped her pen on her notepad as she pondered. Harry was grateful she hadn’t insisted on using quills and parchment. Notepads and pens were just _tidier_. “I think we need to break it down further than that, and assume the impersonator is the first key. We know it wasn’t Draco. Even if he _wasn’t_ gay, the visits coincide too closely to his visits with you. The times aren’t exact, but they are enough that he wouldn’t have an alibi for any of the times he was seen there. We’ll address the fact that someone must have been watching him pretty closely to pull that off, but later. So how _did_ they see him? The only ways I know of to alter a person’s appearance like that is with Polyjuice, or some seriously advanced glamours. Possibly Transfiguration, but again, that’s prohibitively complicated. No, my money would be on Polyjuice. But that then begs the question of how they got his hair?”

 

Harry wracked his brains. He could feel something tickling the back of his mind, but couldn’t quite grasp it. “He’s almost as fussily clean as I am. Someone would have to get very close to him to get the hair, and if they were using it that often for a month, then they must have had a decent stock of it, or regular access to him or the manor.”

 

He rubbed his scar, trying to pull the teasing idea into the light. It resisted.

 

“I think that ties in with _why_ he was being watched,” Ron suggested. “If we assume Polyjuice – and I agree it’s the most likely – then I think the timing of the visits will point us towards who was providing the hairs.” He sipped his water, frowning into space as he thought aloud.

 

“Pass me the transcript of the interview with Dean and Mrs Thomas?” Harry asked. He peered at it, skimming through the usual platitudes and declarations about what a good girl Magda was. He started when he found what had been niggling at him. “Here! Dean says that he didn’t know she was dating Draco, but was only mildly surprised that she’d pursued him. He says she had been “slightly obsessed” with him since he had saved her in school. Apparently when the Death Eaters were running Hogwarts, he deliberately distracted some of the more enthusiastic Slytherins and gave her a chance to get away unharmed. She fixated on him after that, but always seemed to be content to “worship from afar”.”

 

Ron was blinking dumbly when Harry glanced up.

 

Harry stared. “What?”

 

“He really did that? I thought he was too much of a coward to do anything that might put himself at risk for so little personal benefit.” He winced, realising how his words could be interpreted by the emotional and stressed martial arts expert sitting within arm’s reach.

 

Fortunately Harry was too immersed in the transcript to pay much attention. “Hmm? Yeah, he did it as often as he could get away with. He did what he had to do, but he tried to protect the younger years as much as possible.”

 

Ron and Hermione stared at Harry, stunned into silence. He glanced up irritably. “What now? Why are you staring at me?”

 

They glanced at each other, employing the silent communication that irritated Harry so much. Ron cleared his throat. “We’re just surprised, is all. You’ve always refused to talk about the war. Every time we tried to bring it up, you said that living it was enough, you didn’t see why you should _re_ live it by talking it over.” He faltered at the flat look directed at him.

 

“I don’t talk, I just listen to him when he needs to. You had each other to talk to, but Draco had no one.” Harry tried to keep the snarl out of his voice, but only partially succeeded. He was tired and irritable anyway; he didn’t see why they thought now was a good time to reopen an old and volatile argument. “Despite appearances, Draco _isn’t_ a coward.”

 

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears. “We’re sorry Harry, we didn’t mean it like that. We worry about you; we just want you to get some help. We can see the scars the war left you with, but you _refuse_ to talk about it. You just go on hiding and suffering from the nightmares and paranoia and obsessive behaviour alone, and won’t let us help! We hoped maybe if you wouldn’t talk to _us_ about it, you might have talked to _him_.”

 

She bit her lip as Harry transferred his flat look to her.

 

“No. Now if we could maybe focus on getting Draco out of custody before he gets cursed into the Janus Thickley ward at St Mungo’s? Unless you’d like to chat about something else irrelevant, that is? No? Good.”

 

Harry resolutely turned back to the file.

 

“Now, I think someone needs to go talk to Dean again, get more information on this crush she had.”


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione rushed into Harry’s living room, brandishing a small notebook. “Harry! Ron! I found something!” She was practically bubbling with excitement, bouncing in place. “I went to Magda’s place, and managed to have a look around. It was in her bedroom, under the mattress. I don’t think anyone else thought to look there, since it was such a muggle place to hide it, and it wasn’t warded, so it didn’t set off any detection spells.” She dropped onto the couch, and looked expectantly at the boys. She scowled at the blank looks she got in return.

 

Harry broke first, his impatience to rescue Draco giving him less tolerance for her unintentional superiority than usual. “Well, what is it?” His voice hovered somewhere between a plea and a snarl.

 

She blinked, then blushed. “I found her diary.” She grabbed the notebook and flipped through it, pausing at the entry she was looking for. “Listen to this.

 

_“I can hardly believe it. Draco Malfoy approached me today, and asked if he could call on me! Rather a quaint way of referring to it, but he’s from an old pureblood family, so I suppose things like that will crop up every now and again. I’m so happy!_

_I was in Diagon Alley, minding my own business, when I saw him through the crowd. He was like a marble Adonis, brought to life and gifting us mere mortals with a glimpse of perfection as he glimmered in the sun…”_

Harry held up a hand, interrupting. He was pale, and had a bizarre combination of expressions on his face. Hermione observed him closely, and decided it was a mixture of nausea, jealousy, and grudging agreement. She elected to ignore the latter. “What’s wrong, Harry?” She marked her place with her finger.

 

“Can you just summarise? This sounds like one of those god awful romance novels, and quite frankly, it’s turning my stomach.”

 

Hermione nodded obligingly. “I haven’t read it all yet, but from what I’ve skimmed so far, the imposter approached her, and initiated the affair. He chose the times for each of their, um, meetings, and controlled all communications. He told her he wanted to marry her, but that he didn’t want his parents to know until afterwards because of their prejudices, so she wasn’t to send him owls or any other correspondence.” She paused thoughtfully. “I suspect that’s why Malfoy – the real one – didn’t get any strange letters from her.” Snapping back to attention at Harry’s impatient look, she continued. “Anyway. The point is that someone deliberately targeted her, probably because they knew of her obsession. I’d consider that conclusive proof of a deliberate plot against him, especially combined with the timing of the visits. So the next question is, who would benefit from him being in prison? What would they get from it?”

 

Ron stirred slightly. “Revenge for the war? Seems unlikely though. They would’ve had plenty of opportunity prior to this, and while taking advantage of the visits to Harry could just be opportunism, it seems too calculated for that. There was too much effort to coincide the visits but make sure Malfoy never found out.” He frowned at the coffee table, rubbing his lips thoughtfully with his index finger. “Harry, is it possible that someone knew about the vow he made to you? If they timed the visits deliberately so he couldn’t provide himself with an alibi…”

 

Harry nodded, eyes shining fervently as his brain ticked into overdrive. “A few people know. I know he told Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, and his parents. I think possibly the other Slytherins too, but I’m not sure about them. It’s kind of been an open secret.”

 

Hermione nodded, taking notes. “We should focus on his friends and parents first I think, since he’s closest to them?” She glanced up at Harry for confirmation of her assumption. Continuing at his nod, she shifted to a more comfortable position. “Alright then. What do we know about Parkinson?”

 

Harry leaned back and closed his eyes. “She still clings to the blood purity nonsense. She has tea with Draco and Blaise every Tuesday and Friday afternoon - it’s like a ritual for them since they graduated Hogwarts. She’s active in the pure blood circles, but doesn’t get closely involved in many projects. I know her family lost most of their money after the war, and she intends to marry rich to restore their fortunes. She was the bride that Draco’s parents selected for him, but… Oh!” Harry sat up so quickly he got a little faint. “A few months ago she was after Draco to ‘settle down and produce an heir’ with her, despite him telling her bluntly when he came out that it wasn’t going to happen. Apparently she thought that meant that he just needed to have some fun for a while and then he would come back to her. She seemed to drop it though, when he insisted he wouldn’t leave me and marry her.” Harry’s smile was triumphant. “It’s got to be her!”

 

“But if Malfoy’s in prison, he wouldn’t be able to marry her and have an heir anyway,” Ron pointed out. “So why would she do something like that?”

 

Harry drooped, dejected. “I didn’t think of that.”

 

They sat in silence, mulling it over.

 

Hermione tapped her notebook again and cleared her throat. “Alright, what about Zabini?”

 

Harry grunted, mentally shifting gears. “He’s Draco’s best friend. I swear, the two of them gossip more than Parvati and Lavender ever used to!” He smiled fondly, thinking about some of the conversations Draco had recounted to him. “Financially well off, semi active socially but tends to stay neutral wherever possible. Doesn’t hate Muggleborns, but doesn’t particularly care about them either. He’s the closest thing to a brother that Draco has. He’s even been accepting of our relationship, or at least appeared so.” He shook his head, worried. “I really hope he isn’t involved in this. It would kill Draco to be betrayed by him.”

 

“What about Malfoy’s parents?” Hermione asked, not looking up as she scribbled notes.

 

Harry shrugged helplessly. “I can’t tell you much. Draco doesn’t really talk about them often. They had a huge row when he came out, and they’ve barely spoken since. I know that Narcissa is frustrated at Lucius’s stubbornness. She strongly disapproves of Draco’s public behaviour, but seemed pleased that he’s calmed down a lot since he started seeing me. She’s made noises a few times about meeting me.” Harry paused, amused as he imagined how that conversation would go. “She would prefer he marry a pureblood princess and have lots of little snooty albino babies of course, but not at the expense of Draco’s happiness.

 

“Lucius is a different story. He was furious with Draco for not marrying Pansy as he was told to, and threatened a few times to disinherit him. He won’t go through with it of course, because there isn’t anyone else he could claim as an heir until Draco has children. He barely speaks to Draco at all, except to remind him of his ‘familial obligations’.”

 

Hermione finished scribbling and looked over her notes. “Anyone else you can think of who might have a grudge? Any recent arguments with anyone? Ex boyfriends?”

 

Harry chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything. His most recent ex was Michael Allens, but I don’t think they’ve had any contact since before Draco found me. If they have, I don’t know about it. I don’t really know anything about him either.”

 

 “So who do you think is the most likely to want him imprisoned? It seems like Parkinson and Mr Malfoy would be most likely suspects, but I can’t see how either of them would benefit.” She huffed in frustration.

 

“I could ask Malfoy – Draco,” Ron offered. “I know his trial is going to be in three days. I don’t think we can afford to neglect his input.” He flushed at the stunned looks he received. “Hey, it’s clear that he’s been set up, and let’s face it, Harry’s going to be intolerable if we don’t rescue him. And if he makes Harry happy then I reckon I can try to get along with him. It’s about time we ended that stupid blood feud anyway.”

 

Hermione beamed and cooed. “That’s very mature, Ron. I’m proud of you.”

 

Harry grinned and rolled his eyes at Ron’s blush. His friends were a wonderful couple, but sometimes they were so sugary it made him want to hurl.

 

He looked forward to returning the favour with Draco’s help.

 

***

 

Draco kept his bored mask on until the monitoring spells were deactivated, then he nodded to Weasley. He knew his face was desperate, but he couldn’t care right now. "How's Harry?”

 

Weasley smiled sympathetically, and Draco was relieved at the lack of mocking edge. He already felt like a fool, he didn’t need Weasley to taunt him for it.

 

“Working himself ragged. He’s barely slept since you were arrested, but Hermione and I are doing what we can to make sure he eats, at the very least.” He struggled silently for a moment, then continued. “When you get out, do you think you could maybe play up your vulnerability or something? If he doesn’t get a few days to recover before going back to work, I’m afraid he’ll have another breakdown like he did when he first disappeared. I think he’s already dreaming of whisking you off somewhere remote where he can ‘keep you safe’. I heard him muttering in his sleep last night. Something about a moose.”

 

Draco’s eyes crinkled slightly with humour. “I can do that.” He shifted and winced. “You don’t happen to have a pain potion on you, do you?”

 

Weasley started slightly, and reached into his robe pockets.

 

“I’ve got more than that for you. Harry had Hermione brew you a few things.” He pulled a handful of vials out, and frowned at them for a moment. “Pain potion, nutrient potion, blood replenisher – that one was just in case – a general healing potion, and a nerve protector.” He handed them over in order, taking the empty vials back a moment later. “The last is a preventative the Aurors developed; it’s not available outside the department. If someone hits you with more pain curses or any spells that affect your nerves, it won’t stop the pain, but it’ll make sure you don’t take any permanent damage. It’s effective even against the Crutiatus, so you should be alright on that count if they somehow get around setting off the wards.”

 

Draco nodded gratefully. “Thank you. Both of you. I know we haven’t had the best history, but I appreciate what you’re doing for me, and when I get out of here I’d like the chance for a fresh beginning, if you’re open to it. I know Harry wants us to get along, but I’d like it for our sakes too.” He blinked, a little startled at his honesty. It was true, of course, but one didn’t simply _say_ it. He wondered drowsily if there was such a thing as Gryffindoritis, and if so, when he had caught it. He shook his head slightly.

 

Weasley smiled again – he seemed to do a lot of that – and ran his hand through his hair. “Sorry, that last potion will make you a bit stoned for a few minutes, but it passes quickly. I should have warned you. But yes, I think a fresh beginning would be an excellent idea.” He offered his hand.

 

Draco reached out to shake it, and after three misses and a broken fingernail, succeeded. Weasley kindly kept his sniggers to a minimum. Draco made a mental note to remember that and buy him something nice as a thank you. Maybe a rubber duck like Harry had. Or a banjo!

 

The haze finally started clearing, and Draco determinedly resumed his usual dignity, ignoring his blush. “Did Harry send a message?” He told himself that he _wasn’t_ holding his breath for the answer, not matter how it might seem.

 

“Yeah.  He said,” here he paused and adopted an unflattering expression of concentration, staring over Draco’s head. “’Wear your mask, and never doubt that I’m coming for you. When it’s done, the masks, and gloves, come off. And then we’re having a picnic.’ I have no idea what that means, but I assume you do.”

 

Draco grinned, then sniggered at Weasley’s startled expression. “Oh yes, I know exactly what he means. It means he’s going to put on a show, not just save the day.”

 

Ron grinned back. “Oh good. It’s about bloody time! And the bit about the picnic?”

 

Draco half lidded his eyes and smirked.

 

Ron flinched and turned green. “Please don’t tell me. I don’t want to know that sort of thing. Ever.”

 

Draco chuckled and nodded. “We won’t. Except when it would be funny. Then we will. With glee. And details.” His smirk developed an evil edge, but he resisted the urge to rub his hands and cackle.

 

There was some things that a Malfoy simply didn’t do in company.

 

***

 

Harry glanced at his reflection in the store window, trying to ignore his paranoia.

 

He was in Diagon Alley for the first time in four years, under a rather complicated glamour of Hermione’s devising. He knew she wouldn’t have sent him out with shoddy work, but he couldn’t shake the terror that it would fade and he’d be mobbed, ruining their plan.

 

His now pale blue eyes scanned the crowds with deceptively casual sweeps as he sipped his milkshake. He was sitting in a café that gave him a good view of the entrance to Gringotts, his shaggy strawberry blonde hair rustling slightly in the breeze.

 

He soaked in the atmosphere, enjoying the feeling of the ambient magic permeating every stone and structure; listening to the low hum of wards, the squawks and barks and hoots of various familiars, and the bustling of everyday life.

 

It still felt like home.

 

Spotting his target exiting the bank, he casually aimed his wand under the table and tagged him with a tracking charm as he passed. He slowly finished his shake, then tossed some coins on the table as he stood and stretched, strolling in the direction the charm pulled him.

 

***

 

They’d discussed the plan at length when Ron had returned from seeing Draco.

 

He hadn’t had any concrete information to offer, but agreed that his father and Parkinson were the most likely suspects to begin with. Draco’d been saddened by that, but wasn’t going to let family loyalty blind him to the possibilities. He knew full well how ruthless both of them could be when going after something they wanted.

 

Lucius had been on at him about doing something to improve the family standing, and Pansy had been giving him significant looks that he had been studiously pretending he didn’t see. He’d speculated that if one of them was involved, the other probably would be too. Pansy had become very close to his parents, and had in fact taken Lucius as a surrogate father figure after her own was killed in the war, seeking his advice on several projects.

 

Harry appeared with a soft crack, dumping the unconscious body of Lucius into a chair and binding him tightly.

 

He was panting, dirty, and trickling blood onto the floor from a wound on his thigh, but the adrenalin pumping through his system kept him moving. Despite being a man of leisure, Lucius was still a formidable dueller, and had put up a hell of a fight. He hadn’t been one of Voldemort’s Inner Circle for nothing.

 

Harry was grateful as never before for his constant training and fitness.

 

Their makeshift cell had been glamoured into dull grey stone, and Hermione had even made liberal use of cooling charms and humidity spells. The result was a dank prison with moisture dripping down the walls, the air chill enough to sting the lungs with each breath. To Harry’s amusement she had even set up auditory glamours, layering faint sounds until it seemed like the cell was located near the ocean. The hint of sea salt in the air was the final artistic touch. Even if they managed to break the anti-apparition wards that would be raised the moment Ron and Pansy arrived, they wouldn’t have any real information on their location.

 

Harry hit Lucius with another stunner – just in case – and quickly removed all the items that Draco had told them his father never left the house without. Several portkeys, three emergency beacons, one poison ring, an enchanted dagger and two back up wands later, Harry left the room to prepare for the next part of their almost certainly overcomplicated and needlessly elaborate plan.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Ron shuffled anxiously as Hermione worked on Harry’s next disguise.

 

“Seriously mate, this is wrong. Are you sure all this is necessary?”

 

Harry turned to look at him, then stilled obediently at Hermione’s wordless snarl. The combination of makeup, costuming, and glamours were a delicate procedure – apparently – and he was completely unwilling to risk her ire by causing her to make a mistake.

 

She was bloody scary when she wanted to be.

 

Hermione answered for Harry, since she had forbidden him to move, speak, blink or breathe until she was done.

 

“Yes, it is. We agreed that they were the most likely suspects, but they were each seen at various times when ‘Draco’ was with Magda. But they were never seen _together_ at those times. And Magda’s diary mentioned that ‘his’ speech seemed to change sometimes. Sometimes it was more formal. She speculated that it depended on how much pressure his family was putting on him, but I think it’s simpler than that. I think it was two different people. You have to agree that it makes sense. Since they were both seen independently at those times, clearly they can’t be involved. But if they were switching between them…” She trailed off meaningfully, frowning at Harry’s face, squinting as she tweaked the glamour slightly.

 

Harry fought down a chuckle as Ron gave her a flat look.

 

“I know all that. We discussed it to death last night, remember? I mean _this_!” He waved at hand at Harry’s disguised figure. “It’s creepy, and wrong, and I’m going to have nightmares.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes and patted his arm.

 

“Yes dear.”

 

Ron huffed and folded his arms across his chest. “When I wake up screaming, I expect you to take full responsibility for your actions.”

 

“Of course. I assume you will also demand hot chocolate and cuddles while I rock you back to sleep? Perhaps a lullaby?”

 

Harry whimpered. He did _not_ want to know these details about their marriage.

 

***

 

An hour later they were finally ready. It had taken a ridiculous amount of work, but Hermione was finally satisfied with Harry’s appearance.

 

He took one glance in the mirror, then turned away and refused to look more closely. He would never admit it, but it was disturbingly close to some of his nightmares, and he had absolutely no desire to see it in reality.

 

Watching grimly as Ron downed a vial of Polyjuice, he tried to get into character. He was fortunate that acting had always come naturally to him – even the innocent ‘who-me-don’t-be-ridiculous-I-can’t-even-convincingly-lie’ persona he’d shown most often through his Hogwarts years had been fake. It was amazingly easy to control people’s perceptions when you could blush on command. It certainly made getting away with things easier.

 

His introspection was broken at Ron’s anxious whine.

 

“I feel weird.”

 

Harry smirked and handed Ron a set of Draco’s clothes. “I’m not surprised. Tell me, how did you enjoy drinking Essence of Draco?”

 

Ron turned a little green at the phrasing and started pulling on the trousers.

 

Harry waited a moment, then mused, “I always knew you wanted to get into his pants.”

 

***

 

Lucius and Pansy had woken in the cell, the frigid air hurting their chests as they breathed, the moisture seeping into their clothes and chilling them to the bone.

 

Lucius glanced around as he tested his bonds. He immediately noted the absence of all of his hidden contingencies, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.

 

Only family members knew of them. 

 

Listening carefully, he could just detect sounds of the ocean, and the tang of salt in the air confirmed his suspicion that they were near the ocean. He smirked. There were only a half dozen places with stone like this located near the sea. When they escaped it would be a simple matter to locate his enemy’s stronghold again to exact a little retribution.

 

He would make them scream like that Thomas bitch.

 

Pansy had been whining and whimpering since the moment she woke, much to his annoyance. It was a pity she was so weak. But she was pure, and had proved herself useful in identifying and seducing the Thomas bitch, and she was good breeding stock. Maybe after Draco had whelped her he might have a turn or two himself. Narcissa was getting much too independent and opinionated nowadays; she would need to be disposed of soon, and he would need a new toy.

 

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since they woke, but he estimated it was no more than half an hour when he heard footsteps approaching.

 

 _‘Amateurs.’_ He scoffed mentally. _‘They should have waited significantly longer if they intended to soften me up before interrogation.’_

 

The door creaked open, and Lucius affected his best sneer. Fortunately Pansy had taken his cue and stopped whinging, looking suitably bored.

 

Looking at the figures that entered the room, Lucius felt the sneer – and blood – drain from his face. It couldn’t be. It _wasn’t possible_!

 


	8. Chapter 8

Voldemort strode into the cell, Draco following a step behind and took a position slightly behind and to the left. Adopting a military rest position, his face was cold and blank.

 

A toothy smile spread across the Dark Lord’s face, a menacing chuckle filling the air at the blonde’s expression of horrified realisation.

 

Lucius whimpered “My Lord!”

 

“Ah, Lucius. You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble, you realise. Because of you I’ve been forced to accelerate my plans. I am _most_ _displeased_.” Voldemort’s voice was sibilant, the breathy tone making it almost a vocal caress.

 

“My Lord! Please forgive me, I didn’t know!”

 

Lucius’ voice was panicked, and ‘Draco’ decided a sneer wouldn’t be out of place. He’d practiced it in the mirror before beginning this little show, so he knew he could pull it off.

 

“Silence!” Voldemort’s voice cracked like a whip. “Forgive you?” He drifted forwards, and stroked the side of Lucius’ jaw, placing a finger under his chin to tilt his face up. “Your interference nearly cost me my most valued servant. Perhaps you could tell me what you thought you were doing, hmm?”

 

Piercing red eyes bored into terrified grey.

 

Lucius swallowed, trying to work some moisture into his parched throat.

 

“My Lord, I believed my son to be bringing shame to the family with his refusal to marry the bride selected for him, and produce an heir. I sought to bring him to heel by separating him from his mysterious lover.

 

“I thought that the threat of Azkaban would be enough to cow him. I had intended to leave him long enough to give up hope, and then offer him a choice; if he married Miss Parkinson and produced an heir, I would secure a pardon for him, or have his sentence altered to house arrest. If not, I would disown him and leave him there, siring another child myself.”

 

Lucius whimpered as the thin fingers gripped his chin painfully. He watched as the Dark Lord finally spared a glance for the terrified girl next to him.

 

“And what part did you play in this little saga, my dear? Beyond attempting to steal my consort, that is.”

 

Pansy swayed in her seat, held up mainly by the ropes wrapped around her body. “I…”

 

Voldemort sneered. “Speak, child, and do not waste my time.”

 

“My Lord, I identified the target, and alternated with Mr Malfoy for the assignations with her prior to her disposal.” Pansy gasped out, her words almost running together.

 

Releasing Lucius’s chin, Voldemort laughed, stalking slowly around the chairs, trailing his fingers across Pansy’s shoulders and neck as he passed behind her.

 

“Oh you did, did you?” He leaned close, hands resting lightly on her shoulders as he whispered in her ear. His position behind her making it impossible for her to see him. “Were you the one who killed her? Were you brave enough to look into her eyes as she died? Did you have the stomach to witness the life drain from the person _you_ chose?”

 

Shuddering at the breath ghosting against her neck, Pansy whimpered. “N-No, My Lord. I was to maintain my alibi on the night she died, in case something went wrong. I needed to be free to bear the Malfoy heir.”

 

Voldemort straightened, and looked at the restrained blonde. “Did you do your own dirty work, Lucius? Was it _your_ hand that took Draco from my side?”

 

Lucius closed his eyes in resignation. “Yes, My Lord.”

 

“It is fortunate that your son is considerably more intelligent than yourself. His presence has been quite… Pleasurable. The same cannot be said for you, or the odious Miss Parkinson.” Voldemort grabbed a handful of the blonde hair, using it to yank Lucius’s head back harshly as he purred into his ear. “You will pay dearly for your pathetic attempt to take what is mine.”

 

***

 

Throwing himself on the couch as he waited for the Polyjuice to wear off, Ron loosed a hefty sigh.

 

When Harry had revealed his ability to perfectly mimic nearly anyone it had seemed like harmless fun, and many drunken nights had been spent in Harry’s lounge room testing his range. The Umbridge impersonation was creepy to the extreme, but this was an entirely different level. Seeing Harry not just mimic Voldemort’s voice, but his mannerisms and appearance too, was the stuff of nightmares.

 

“Take off your clothes.”

 

Voldemort’s voice crooning in his ear sent Ron leaping to his feet.

 

“Don’t _do_ that!” He ran his hand through his hair as he attempted to slow his racing heartbeat.

 

Harry chuckled. “Sorry. Forgot to drop the voice. But seriously, take Draco’s clothes off. If you ruin his favourite pants I’ll be in for hell later.”

 

Ron grumbled, heading to the bedroom to change.

 

Emerging in his own clothes, he accepted the glass of scotch from Harry, avoiding looking at him.

 

“Seriously mate, please take off that disguise. It’s creepy as fuck seeing you look like that.”

 

Harry nodded. “Yeah, just waiting for Hermione. She put some sort of signature lock on it in case Lucius or Parkinson tried to dispel the glamour. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

 

Ron pursed his lips, impressed once again by his wife’s intellect.

 

“Fair enough. I’ll just sit here and have a drink with the Dark Lord, in my best mate’s living room. Because what else am I going to do after abducting two people without a warrant and holding them prisoner while questioning them illegally?” He gave a sickly smile.

 

“Oh honestly, Ron, don’t be so dramatic.” Hermione bustled in, waving her wand at Harry to dispel the glamours.

 

Harry gave her a grateful grin and ducked into the bathroom to scrub himself raw under painfully hot water.

 

Only Draco knew that it was a common routine for him after being reminded of the war.

 

Freshly scalded, scrubbed and dressed, Harry rejoined his friends, slumping into his favourite chair. Resting his head against the back, he accepted a glass of scotch from Ron.

 

He sipped, mentally comparing it to the bottle of Suntory that he’d won the night Draco had found him. He still had about half of it left. Without discussing it, it had become ‘their’ bottle, and was only brought out when they were alone and celebrating something together.

 

The scotch came a very poor second.

 

“So remind me again why we did all that rather than just dosing them with Veritaserum?” Harry asked the room, keeping his eyes closed.

 

He’d expected a lecture from Hermione, but to his surprise it was Ron who answered.

 

“Because they’ll be given it in the courtroom tomorrow, and doses need to be separated by seventy two hours at least, or you run a high risk of fatally poisoning the recipient. And even if he _is_ guilty, I doubt Draco would be particularly happy with you if you let that happen to his father. Just as he wouldn’t be happy if you simply beat the truth out of them – and yes, I know that’s what you were planning to do.

 

“But becoming the one person Lucius was afraid of and wouldn’t dare hide the truth from? Nothing illegal about dressing up in a Halloween costume and listening to someone talk about whatever’s on their mind.”

 

Ron shrugged and went back to his drink, trying not to remember how thoroughly Harry had played the role. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to look at his friend for a while.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Harry stared at himself in the mirror, anxiety churning his gut.

 

This was it. The day to rescue Draco and put the fear of Merlin into anyone who had touched him.

 

He studied his appearance critically. A little paler than he would like, but given his stress and lack of sleep over the past week it was hardly surprising. Tilting his head slightly, he debated borrowing some of Hermione’s makeup. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time, though he didn’t make a habit of it.

 

Pursing his lips, he decided a few artistic touches wouldn’t go astray. He was playing the avenging angel, it wouldn’t do to look anything less than perfect.

 

Riffling through her case, he quickly applied the required products, then re-evaluated himself. Perfect. His skin now had a faint shimmer, giving it a dewy, almost ethereal look. The dark smudges under his eyes were hidden, and the very carefully applied eye makeup made his eyes huge and luminous. Best of all, he didn’t actually _look_ like he was wearing makeup.

 

He carefully mussed his hair, spreading the product through it. ‘Bedroom messy’, Draco had called his style. Harry just called it ‘done’.

 

Turning to add the final touches to his outfit, Harry glanced out of the bedroom door to see Hermione fussing over Ron’s Auror robes.

 

They’d decided that only Harry would take the stage, unless things got out of hand, in which case Ron would be there to help out. Hermione of course was there to provide testimony and run rings around the lawyers.

 

Harry tucked in his shirt, and swirled his cloak around his shoulders with a flourish. He felt a little silly in this particular get up, but he knew the importance of the right appearance, especially in this case. He had the body, and playing it to full advantage could only help. So Overly Dramatic Hero Stereotype it was.

 

He idly mused that it was a pity Lockheart wouldn’t be able to see how it was _really_ done.

 

***

 

Draco was quietly panicking.

 

He was seated in the chair in Courtroom 10, chained down, and they were moments away from sentencing him to Azkaban.

 

He’d been forced to reject the chance to use Veritaserum or a Pensieve, for obvious reasons, and without being able to provide an alibi, there was no way to refute the evidence.

 

And there was no sign of Harry.

 

***

 

Harry cursed slightly under his breath as he strode down the hall towards Courtroom 10. Of all the bloody times for the elevator to get stuck! It had taken several minutes of jiggling and thumping the button to get the elevator moving again.

 

The hall was empty but for one or two Ministry sycophants, and despite his muttering and heavy tread, they didn’t notice his Disillusioned figure, nor the two equally invisible bodies disturbing the air behind him.

 

Honestly, the lack of security and observational ability of the average wizard employed at the Ministry made him want to get punch happy on some upper rank morons.

 

Idiots, the lot of them.

 

Reaching the doors, Harry paused and took a deep breath.

 

Show time.

 

***

 

“We, the Wizengamot, hereby find Draco Malfoy -”

 

Everyone in the room jumped as the doors crashed open, and two bound figures, with black bags over their heads, came skidding across the floor to end in a crumpled heap at Draco’s feet.

 

A chill wind swirled into the room, bring the scent of petricor.

 

Harry stood in the doorway, forest green cloak swirling in the conjured wind, his powerful aura uncontained and crackling around him, throwing off glittering sparks of light. His muscular form was displayed to perfection in a white silk pirate style shirt, open at the chest to display his lightly bronzed pectorals, and black leather pants that hugged his legs and buttocks in a way that several news articles – mainly written by swooning female reporters - declared should be illegal. His boots were mid-calf high, heavy and chunky, detailed with metal and wrapped in laces and buckles.

 

Draco was amused to realise Harry had just worn his clubbing boots. They were a brand called New Rock, but Harry called them his ‘fuck you’ boots. He bit his lip to avoid laughing. And dear Merlin, was he wearing _makeup_?

 

Harry’s face was cold, the lighting in the room making his skin seem to glow. He looked Otherworldly, but there was no mistaking his identity. The scar on his forehead was clearly displayed, framed by his unruly hair that rippled and twisted in the breeze. He looked every inch the romantic hero, and Draco decided then and there that it was high time they experimented with costumes and roleplaying in the bedroom.

 

The Aurors reacted before they could register who it was that had interrupted the proceedings, flashes of light speeding towards Harry before anyone could blink.

 

Draco opened his mouth to shout, but Harry - the wonderful and overdramatic git - merely extended a splayed hand and the spells dissipated upon an invisible shield. Draco raised an eyebrow, impressed despite knowing that Harry had planned on being as dramatic as possible.

 

And damn if that wasn’t a turn on.

 

The moment of shocked silence passed, and the roar of the crowd shouting questions and screaming that it was _Harry Potter_ was deafening.

 

Draco idly counted how many witches swooned, since his dignity wouldn’t allow him to join them.

 

One had to admit, his Harry certainly knew how to make an entrance.

 

Harry turned his burning gaze to Draco. His face darkened at the chains wrapping around his lovers body.

 

His voice boosted by a Sonorus, Harry spoke over the hysterical onlookers.

 

“Draco Malfoy. I hereby release you from your vow to me. You are no longer bound to silence.”

 

Draco grinned, and tore his gaze from Harry’s to eyeball the Minister and prosecuting lawyers.

 

“On the night of the murder, and all other occasions that I was supposedly seen at the house of the victim, I was with my boyfriend, Harry Potter.”

 

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that fell.

 

Draco kept his face serene, though inside he was cackling madly. The looks on the faces of everyone in the courtroom was almost too funny for words.

 

Harry strode across the floor to halt next to him, standing with his feet braced shoulder width apart and hands clasped behind his back. His face was stony, though the breeze still swirled around him, making his cloak dance lightly.

 

Draco caught a faint whiff of the woodsy cologne he’d bought for Harry a few months ago, and had to fight the urge to squirm as his cock twitched. Apparently that particular scent mixed with the petricor from Harry’s magic was a rather spectacular combination. He decided that at a later date he would explore that little titbit more thoroughly. For science, of course.

 

“Mr Potter, I must say this is rather unexpected.” Kingsley Shacklebolt rumbled. His face was its usual stoic mask, but the slight twitch of his lips and the amusement in his eyes were clear to those who knew him well.

 

Harry merely raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure.”

 

“May I ask why you have chosen to interrupt this session in such a dramatic fashion? To my understanding it has been years since you deigned to grace the Wizarding world with your presence.”

 

The words may have been faintly caustic, but Harry could see genuine curiosity behind it. He hadn’t seen or contacted Kingsley since leaving the Wizarding world behind, but the two men had always gotten along fairly well.

 

“Because you would have convicted an innocent man. He was bound by Wizards Oath not to reveal me, and as such was unable to defend himself adequately. Had I revealed myself earlier, I would have been mobbed, and unable to see him in order to release him from his vow. Even if I _had_ managed to release him, being suddenly able to reveal information, especially information about _me_ would have looked contrived and desperate, and would have been treated as such. I decided that this way was the most efficient. Congratulations on your appointment as Minister by the way. I would have sent you a card, but, I didn’t.”

 

Kingsley stifled a smirk. “Thank you. I appreciate the sentiment, I think. May I ask where you have been?”

 

Harry’s face grew marginally colder, his tone matching. “Is that relevant? I must admit that my most pressing priority is currently chained to a chair.”

 

Nodding slightly, Kingsley conceded. “You’re right. Perhaps after this issue is dealt with you would agree to meet with me?”

 

Harry pursed his lips slightly – drawing a dreamy sigh from most females in the spectator seats – and half lidded his eyes.

 

“I’ll consider it.”

 

Nodding again, the tall black man knew that that was the best he would get at this point. He clearly remembered how Harry tended to react to being pushed.

 

At that moment, one of the figures at Draco’s feet stirred, drawing the attention of the Boy-Who-Lived.

 

“I request Veritaserum. I think you’ll find that these are the real culprits behind the murder of Magda Thomas, and the framing of Draco Malfoy.”

 

Waving his hand, Harry conjured two chairs and motioned for the Aurors to place the bound figures on them. He waved his hand again, more bindings wrapping around them and keeping them immobile.

 

The wide eyes as everyone watched him perform wandless magic made him fight down a chuckle. His wand was strapped to his forearm, and he’d taught himself how to cast through it without drawing years ago, since waving a wand around when in the muggle world drew too much attention. However, combined with a long sleeved shirt, it looked suitably dramatic.

 

“Mr Potter, you may not be aware, but taking Veritaserum during a legal proceeding is voluntary. We cannot force these people to take it against their will. Do you understand?”

 

Harry nodded peacefully, and stepped forward to whip the hoods from their heads, his back turned to the crowd. The shouting from the Wizengamot and spectators at the revealed identities provided the perfect cover when Harry whispered to them.

 

“You will take the Veritaserum.” His voice mimicked Voldemorts, and their terrified faces paled further when his eyes flashed to Voldemort’s red slits for a split second.

 

They nodded quickly.

 

Resuming his position next to Draco, Harry raised his voice again.

 

“Perhaps we can begin?”

 

A few members of the Wizengamot grumbled at his interference, but Kingsley quickly silenced them and moved the proceedings along.

 

The Veritaserum was quickly accepted and administered, and Kinsley began his questions.

 

“Lucius Malfoy, do you know why are you are here?”

 

“Yes.” His voice was the soft monotone induced by the drug.

 

Kingsley bit back his annoyance. He’d been out of the field too long if he’d forgotten how literal people under Veritaserum could be. “Please tell us why.”

 

“Because I betrayed my lord by framing my son for murder.”

 

Kingsley frowned. “Your lord?”

 

“The Dark Lord.”

 

The panicked screams and yelling was loud enough to drown out the Minister as he tried to restore order. Several people fainted, and one elderly lady collapsed with heart trouble and had to be removed to St Mungo’s for treatment. Kingsley banged his gavel and shouted, but the crowd was close to rioting, and his efforts went unheeded.

 

After several minutes, Harry lost his patience and cast a loud bang from his hidden wand, drawing enough attention that Kingsley was able to regain control.

 

Kingsley cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “You claim that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is your Lord, and that you framed your son for murder?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Kingsley pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting a smile. “Alright, let’s take this one point at a time. You have previously claimed to have only served the Dark Lord due to being under the Imperious Curse. Was that the truth? Or did you serve willingly?”

 

An elderly member of the Wizengamot coughed. “Point of order, Minister Shacklebolt. This line of questioning pertains to a closed case unrelated to this one.”

 

The woman’s voice was uncomfortably reminiscent of Delores Umbridge, and Harry shuddered imperceptibly as he rubbed his scarred hand. Six years, and he still had _I must not tell lies_ embedded in his skin because of that bitch.

 

Kingsley pursed his lips in irritation. “You are correct Madam Rosier. However any claims relating to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named _will_ be investigated thoroughly, and if new information comes to light, all relevant cases will be re-examined and reopened as necessary. I will, however, concede that the matter of the case at hand should be dealt with first.” Ignoring Rosier’s furious huffing, he returned his gaze to Lucius, and began again. “You claim you framed your son for murder. Please explain why, and how.”

 

And so Lucius began.

 

“My son had been shaming the family with his antics and blatant homosexuality. He refused the bride selected for him, electing instead to carry on like some sort of common whore, not even being discrete enough to keep his deviancy out of the public eye!

 

“After many futile attempts to have him see reason and marry Miss Parkinson, we gave him one last chance. When he again refused to marry and produce an heir, it was decided that it was necessary to force his hand.

 

“Miss Parkinson selected the target, based on her knowledge of a pathetic crush the bitch harboured after Draco saved her worthless skin during the war.”

 

“What was the targets name?” Kingsley prompted.

 

“Magda Thomas. It was pathetically easy to woo her. We Polyjuiced into Draco’s form, and conducted several assignations with her.”

 

Kingsley interrupted again. “We?”

 

“Miss Parkinson and I. We alternated, ensuring we were both seen at various social events in order to establish alibis for ourselves.”

 

Nodding, Kingsley spared a glance at Draco, noting his pale but expressionless face.

 

“Please continue.”

 

“We Obliviated the mudblood during each meeting, convincing her that we were having – relations – when we met.” Lucius’s face screwed up in disgust, despite the Veritaserum dulling his emotional responses.

 

“We timed each interaction for when Draco was off with his latest whore. He claimed to be bound by Wizards Oath to keep the filth’s identity secret. We tried to find out who it was, but never succeeded.”

 

Kingsley interrupted again when it seemed Lucius might get lost in the details.

 

“So you took advantage of the oath, making sure you and Miss Parkinson were seen impersonating Draco because you knew he wouldn’t be able to provide an alibi?”

 

“Yes.”

 

His face stony, the intimidating black man decided to cut to the chase.

 

“Did you and Miss Parkinson kill Magda Thomas?”

 

It seemed as if everyone in the room was holding their breath.

 

“No.”

 

Draco listened, feeling his world come crashing down around him. He’d known, of course, that his parents disapproved of his lifestyle and couldn’t accept that being gay was something beyond his control, and had suspected that they had something to do with his current predicament. But hearing it laid out so coldly was a rather bitter potion to swallow.

 

Harry leaned marginally closer, unobserved by the rest of the courtroom. He could see how much Draco was hurting, and wanted nothing more than to hold his lover and soothe the pain away, but he knew that such affections would be unwelcome in public. The Malfoys had a reputation to maintain after all.

 

Draco noticed, and flicked his eyes towards Harry in a silent gesture of thanks.

 

Kingsley tried again.

 

“Do you know who killed Magda Thomas?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Rubbing his eyes in frustration, the Minister kept his voice to its habitual calm rumble, refusing to allow his irritation to bleed through. “And that would be?”

 

“Me.”

 

Before the shouting from the spectators could deafen them all, Madam Rosier was again on her feet.

 

“Minister Shacklebolt, clearly Mr Malfoy is confused, since even under Veritaserum he is contradicting himself. I move that his testimony be stricken from the record, and that he be moved to a secure ward in St Mungo’s for assessment.”

 

Kingsley speared her with a cool look. “Madam Rosier, I believe that the contradiction was due to the phrasing of my question, and further questioning will determine whether this is the case. One has to wonder why you are so determined to prevent Mr Malfoy from giving testimony.”

 

The unspoken warning and potential threat hung in the air as the two politicians stared each other down.

 

Rosier broke first, gritting her teeth and resuming her seat. Kingsley continued to eyeball her until she lowered her eyes.

 

“Mr Malfoy, are you admitting to the planning and murder of Magda Thomas?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Fighting to keep the wolfish smile from his face, Kingsley took a moment to compose himself and let the furore die down. He had waited a _very_ long time for this.


	10. Chapter 10

Kingsley sat behind his desk, laughing as tears rolled down his face, while Draco looked at Harry with his mouth open in shock.

 

Harry blushed and shifted uncomfortably.

 

Finally, Kingsley pulled himself together enough to speak. “You really dressed as You-Know-Who to make Malfoy and Parkinson confess, just so you didn’t have to use Veritaserum?”

 

Harry sipped his tea, humming quietly. “Well, I couldn’t risk them being poisoned in the courtroom, and I didn’t think Draco would be happy with me if I beat the confession out of them.” He glanced at the older man and quickly added, “Which is illegal and I would never have done something like that, ‘cos morals, and stuff. Besides, I figured that if they were ranting about the Dark Lord being back then they were more likely to end up in St Mungo’s than Azkaban. I thought Draco might prefer that.”

 

Draco’s lips twitched, then pursed. “Wait, you said Weasley was Polyjuiced into me?”

 

Harry nodded uncertainly.

 

“Please tell me you didn’t let him wear my favourite trousers.”

 

Harry winced.

 

Draco scowled and muttered into his teacup. “Always knew he wanted into my pants.”

 

***

 

Draco lay in Harry’s bed, relaxing into the strong arms wrapped around him, letting his mind drift in a post coital fog.

 

It was good to be home.

 

He couldn’t really remember when he started thinking of Harry’s place as home, but he did, and he was rather content with the fact. Harry’s was very different from the Manor, completely lacking in elegance or any semblance of luxury, but it was warm and comfortable and he loved it.

 

He’d barely made it in the front door before Harry had torn his clothes off and hauled him into the shower, muttering that Draco ‘smelled wrong’.

 

Apparently prison soap did not complement his natural scent.

 

Harry had lathered and massaged every single inch of skin, twice, and only turned the water off when Draco demanded that he stop before Harry washed the blonde’s skin off completely. He’d then been rubbed dry and hauled into bed, only for Harry to continue his pampering by giving Draco a thorough full body massage, not stopping until the pale man was deeply asleep and drooling inelegantly on his pillow.

 

All in all, it was a wonderful welcome home.

 

“Harry?”

 

He received a relaxed hum in response.

 

“Can you stay with me for a few days? I know you need to get back to work and everything, but I really need some time to recover, and you make me feel safe.” He could feel the blush on his cheeks, and didn’t bother to fight it. He remembered his promise to Weasley, and had every intention of keeping it.

 

He supposed if Harry knew he might consider it manipulation, but he thought that Harry would understand. It was worth the risk.

 

Harry rolled slightly so he could peer into his lover’s grey eyes. “Of course. I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

 

He couldn’t resist dropping a small kiss on the tip of Draco’s nose, and grinned at the light thump in the ribs he received for his troubles.

 

They lay in silence, listening to the faint thump of music from the gym downstairs. Harry had done an excellent job when he remodelled the building; the sound was muted and barely noticeable.

 

Draco’s eyes prickled, and he sniffled slightly, trying not to draw Harry’s attention. His brilliant plan was for naught though, when the tears he had been trying to supress dripped onto Harry’s chest.

 

“Draco? What’s the matter?” Harry’s voice was quiet, and Draco couldn’t prevent himself from burrowing into the supportive warmth under his cheek.

 

“It’s only just sinking in.”

 

“Your father?”

 

Draco nodded. “I knew he was unhappy, but it’s difficult to process that he cared more about the family line continuing than me as his son. That he was so ashamed of me that he was willing to go to those lengths. I’m just glad Mother didn’t know anything about it. I don’t think I could cope if she’d been involved too.”

 

Harry pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Draco’s head, pulling him closer.

 

“I don’t know about wizards, but muggles have a way of artificially inseminating a surrogate mother. If you wanted to have a biological heir you still could.”

 

Staring up at the calm green eyes above him, Draco tried not to gape.

 

“What? _How_?”

 

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know the specifics, but you jizz in a cup, then they take it, and do stuff, and hello baby. No girl sex required.”

 

“You’re joking.”

 

“Nope. We could look into it if you want, if that’s something that appeals to you.”

 

Draco paused thoughtfully. “I really don’t have to have sex with the woman? I know you don’t object to it, but I personally find the whole concept of girl parts… Icky.”

 

Harry chuckled, managing to contain his mirth to inoffensive levels. Barely. “I promise, you don’t have to touch those icky girl bits. You don’t even need to see them.”

 

“I’ll think about it then. Definitely worth considering.” He wiggled slightly until he was in a position to kiss Harry lightly. “I’m still hurt that Father would go so far, but I refuse to dwell on it. It’s his loss. Now, on a different topic, you know the press is going to be hounding us now that you’ve made an appearance again? How do you want to handle it?”

 

Harry sighed.

 

“Yeah, I know. I was actually wanting to talk to you about something after Ron and Hermione left that night, but we got a bit side tracked, what with you being in prison and all.”

 

Draco looked up, frowning at the serious look on Harry’s face.

 

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

 

Draco could feel his anxiety rising, dread curling in his gut. Surely after all this, Harry wasn’t leaving? Although Draco’s arrest _had_ forced him to reveal himself, something he’d sworn he would never do. Did he feel manipulated into it? Surely he didn’t hold it against him?

 

Harry smiled, pulling Draco closer as he nuzzled his pale hair.

 

“Nothing’s wrong, love. I just had an idea I wanted to run past you.”

 

Draco waited quietly, relieved that his panic had been nothing but paranoia.

 

“Draco, um, I think my actions recently have made it pretty clear I love you, right? Even though I haven’t actually come out and said it yet?”

 

Grinning, Draco nodded.

 

“Well, I was thinking of starting a new business, and I was wondering if you might be interested in being partners?”

 

Draco hummed thoughtfully, then paused.

 

“Are you wanting me to be the public face while you be a silent partner or something?”

 

Harry’s mouth twitched slightly in disappointment.

 

“Well, I wasn’t, but if that is what you would prefer…” He trailed off uncertainly.

 

Blinking, Draco examined the man in front of him, noting the tension in his frame. He cupped the stubbled cheek.

 

“Harry, are you offering to go back for me?”

 

“Um, well, yes. If you want me too?”

 

He grunted as Draco scrambled to sit upright, accidentally driving his elbow into Harry’s gut.

 

“You want to come back and start a business together? You do realise that would be something rather permanent, right?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes at the teasing tone, and leaned across the bed to rummage in the bedside drawer.

 

“Well, I suppose I’d better go the whole hog then, hadn’t I?” He handed Draco a small black box.

 

Draco’s eyes went wide, too shocked to notice his hands were trembling slightly. He lifted the lid, and stared at the gold toned door key.

 

“Harry?”

 

Harry bit his lip nervously. “Draco, will you move in with me?”

 

Draco’s smile could have lit the room as he threw himself on top of the darker man, kissing him frantically.

 

“Fuck yes!”

 

Harry grinned happily, kissing Draco back with equal fervour. He managed to grunt out his next question between kisses.

 

“And the business?”

 

“What kind of business?”

 

“Well, I hear there are some pretty good locations for clubs down Music Alley. I was thinking the Wizarding World needs its first Karaoke bar.”

 

Draco stopped his ministrations and stared.

 

“Are you serious?”

 

Harry nodded, his hands gently stroking the pale body lying on top of him.

 

“I kind of think of it as coming full circle, or something equally cliché.”

 

“Alright, but I get to name it,” Draco grinned.

 

Harry groaned.

 

***

 

“I can’t believe you named our club Siren Song,” Harry grumbled.

 

Draco laughed at him.

 

“You’re just saying that because most of our patrons are tone deaf and have the rhythm of an epileptic kneazle.”

 

Harry simply glared.

 

“Oh, cheer up! It’s opening night, and we’re packed!” He quickly tossed back a shot of flavoured vodka and offered another to Harry.

 

Muttering to himself, Harry took the shot and threw it back, wincing slightly at the burn. Whiskey was much more his style.

 

“Now, I have an opening night surprise for you.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

 

Draco merely smiled again and turned to face the stage.

 

“And now for our opening performance of the night, we have a very special guest for you all!” The announcer gushed. “Please put your hands together for the infinitely lovely siren, Thelxiepeia!”

 

Harry blinked, stunned. He turned and gaped at Draco in awe.

 

“You got a real siren to sing at our club.”

 

Draco graced him with a smug look.

 

“And not just _any_ siren, but one of the oldest and most famous. One that personally knew Homer, Suidas, and Eustathius.”

 

Draco raised an impressed eyebrow.

 

“She’s an old friend. I met her several years ago while holidaying in Greece, but when I told her about the club she demanded to come and sing for us. But that’s not important right now. You know, I had no idea you were so well read in the classics. I’m actually rather turned on by that little discovery.”

 

He pressed close to Harry, breathing lightly against his ear as he gently teased the lobe with his tongue.

 

Harry blushed and shifted, trying to hide his growing… interest.

 

“Knowing that I’m well-read turns you on? Is this another one of those weird kinks of yours?”

 

Draco hummed happily and continued his ministrations.

 

“Mmhmm. Now, come with me to the office. I have a problem I need your help with.”

 

Harry gave him a flat look.

 

“Really? You bring in a real siren, and you expect me to miss the performance just so you can get your rocks off over me mentioning I like classical mythology?”

 

Draco glared slightly, pursing his lips petulantly. “I’ll tell Hermione about your newly revealed reading habits.”

 

Harry blanched.

 

“You wouldn’t.”

 

Smirking, Draco examined his nails. “Are you sure about that? Because I’m sure she would _love_ to discuss the differences between various classical authors and their portrayal of creatures and historical events and how they relate to our daily lives.”

Harry whined softly. “Please Draco, no! She will suck all the joy out of it by making me analyse it until it isn’t beautiful anymore!”

 

“Then come with me to the office!”

 

Harry paused, biting his lip, before smirking in a way that made Draco discretely adjust himself.

 

“Better idea.” He grabbed Draco’s wrist and hauled him into a private room off the side of the club.

 

The room was luxuriously appointed in warm red velvets and dark wood detailing, occasional flashes of silver and forest green softening the otherwise overwhelming colour scheme. The wall to the club proper was a one way mirror, giving them a perfect view of the stage and all the privacy they could want.

 

Shoving Draco onto the comfortable couch, Harry smiled down at the man that had strolled so casually into his life and made himself at home there.

 

As the opening bars of the song drifted into the room, the two men fell into each other, gasps and moans the perfect accompaniment to the bewitching music caressing their senses.

 

“Draco?” Harry whispered, his breath puffing lightly and stirring a few pale strands of hair.

 

“Mm?”

 

“Thank you for bringing me home.”


End file.
